


After the Symposium & Other Unfinished Stories

by Rubynye



Category: DC Comics, Lord of the Rings RPF, Numb3rs, Star Trek (2009), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-02-05
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unfinished stories in DC Comics, LOTRPS, NUMB3RS, Star Trek Reboot, and X-Men First Class fantoms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After The Symposium

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant for [](http://karadin.livejournal.com/profile)[**karadin**](http://karadin.livejournal.com/)'s Valentine's Day Threesome Challenge. I simply ran out of time. I'll probably finish it sometime in the Spring when I simply need porn (though I intend to work a lot about Ancient Greece in there as well.)

Today I'm posting ones I really do hope to finish sometime.

 **Posted for this year's WIP Amnesty Weekend**  
Title: After the Symposium  
Fandom: LOTR RPS AU (Classical Greece)  
Rating: As it is and as it was intended to be: NC-17  
Pairing: Bean/Elijah/Dom  
Notes: This was meant for [](http://karadin.livejournal.com/profile)[**karadin**](http://karadin.livejournal.com/)'s Valentine's Day Threesome Challenge. I simply ran out of time. I'll probably finish it sometime in the Spring when I simply need porn (though I intend to work a lot about Ancient Greece in there as well.)

 

Bringing flute-girls home was never like this.

Sean lounged in bed, watching Elijah carefully shaving the tiny tuft of beard he posessed. The boy went slowly enough that he likely was cutting each hair individually, and Sean would have laughed, but that he didn't want Elijah to cut himself. Surely, Sean thought, being the cause of damage to that beautiful face would earn him a spot in Tartarus; at least, it should. So he watched Elijah tilt his head carefully, and held his breath lest his amusement puff out.

Tucked beside Sean lay Elijah's friend from the chorus, Dominic, snoring softly on his belly. A handsome metic from some northern place calling itself a polis, and a lively creature too. Sean looked away from Elijah, who was likely to be shaving for awhile yet, and down at the muscled slopes of Dominic's back, his cheek curved sweetly yet dusted with more stubble than Elijah yet possessed. Bites showed dark against Dominic's golden skin, on neck and shoulders and one low down at his waist, and Sean couldn't resist tracing them with a light hand, smiling to see that they came in two sizes.

Elijah had two sets of bites on his shoulders, as well. Sean didn't, though his lip was swollen and pleasantly sore; there are benefits, or perhaps disadvantages, to being the elder.

_Dominic's back flexes sleekly beneath Sean's hands as the lad bucks back against him, hands pushing at the wall to either side of Elijah's waist. Elijah has his head thrown back, hands buried in Dominic's rough tumble of hair; Dominic is a pert, lewd-minded lad, and a skilled one, and when Sean asked him sometime earlier that evening, 'Can you do else with that mouth than prattle?' he'd looked up with a cool grey eye, just insolently enough to make Sean want to shove him against the wall and just heatedly enough to tell Sean that was exactly the desired effect, and touched one finger to the very tip of his red tongue as he'd replied, 'why, yes I can.'_

And can he ever. Sean watches Dominic wind that nimble tongue round Elijah, up one side of his phallos and down the other and tracing the crease behind the head to make Elijah moan and writhe in place like a lampflame, pressing his head back against the wall. The sight runs fire in Sean's own veins; he would be in danger of his peak if he were sitting alone across the room just watching, and he isn't, he's buried stones-deep in Dominic's compact throbbing body. Dominic's young sleek eager body; the lad bucks again, and Sean gasps and bites his lip against the thunderbolt-spark as he masters himself. Then Sean growls and holds Dominic still with a firm hand on his waist, pressed just hard enough over Elijah's love-bite from earlier to draw a hummed moan from Dominic, and an answering moan from Elijah.

Sean is aching, holding himself, holding Dominic, watching Dominic holding Elijah. Aching and sweating and a distant hum is already building within his head, but he wants to watch Elijah's pleasure before he grants Dominic his, before he takes his own. He listens to the approaching song behind his eyes, remembering that he knows the full glorious crescendo it will be if given enough time to build. So he holds still, even though Dominic 'hmphs' through his nose and pulls his head up a fingersbreadth or two, and now Sean can see the red ring of his stretching lips, and Elijah's keen over Dominic's suck-noise threads right along Sean's spine to arch his back and roll his eyes back in his head.

Dominic grunts in pleasure, the greedy little thing.

 

[next: Elijah gives up on shaving and comes back for a cuddle. Sean contemplates how much fun boys are. ]

sex snippets in present tense adn italics. And assorted order.

(Think of Sean's wide trademark grin, and Elijah smiling and running a  
finger along the corners, during the next bit, which is them walking back from the party and propositioning him. Dom starts it and Elijah sees Sean's interest and goes along with it)

(Third sex snippet: Sean fucking Dom (turning him over), with Elijah leaning over to suck Dom, and the climax and explosion of the Bacchic music in Sean's head. then Dom and  
Sean starting on taking Elijah delightfully apart. Watching Dom have 3 orgasms and Elijah 2, watching Elijah asking Sean with his eyes, "do you still think me so lovely next to my lively friend?" and Dom just wallowing hedonistically in their attention.)

(this should be PORN. You get the chance to write three guys in any combination you want.)

Dom waking up and gently mocking them for their devotion, and saying he'd rather be free to fuck  
anyone he wants. Elijah saying that Dom should be careful, before he ends up  
with a rep for being a slut, and Dom shrugs it off. Maybe mention a legal  
case where someone was accused of being a male prostitute. (see Courtesans and Fishcakes)


	2. WIP #3: Untitled Teen Titans Fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, these notes are a little long. Being who I am, when I slash a pairing where one or more members have canon love interests, I don't like ignoring (let alone character-assasinating) the canon love interests. I've long had a plotbunny where a woman, on finding out ~~the slashwraiters have slashed her male SO~~ her male SO is involved with another guy, asks the question Cassie asks here. However, the more I read of the current Teen Titans run, the younger the characters became in my head (so the less likely I was to take it to NC-17) and the more OOC these actions seemed for Cassie. Besides, I realized I was dangerously close to writing "sex and/or love conquers all" and neither do. So. Maybe I'll rework this into a real story one day.

**Posted for this year's WIP Amnesty Weekend**  
Rating: As it is: PG-13 at most, probably PG. As it was intended to be: NC-17  
Pairing: Tim/Kon, Cassie/Kon, Bart/Books.  
Notes: OK, these notes are a little long. Being who I am, when I slash a pairing where one or more members have canon love interests, I don't like ignoring (let alone character-assasinating) the canon love interests. I've long had a plotbunny where a woman, on finding out ~~the slashwraiters have slashed her male SO~~ her male SO is involved with another guy, asks the question Cassie asks here. However, the more I read of the current Teen Titans run, the younger the characters became in my head (so the less likely I was to take it to NC-17) and the more OOC these actions seemed for Cassie. Besides, I realized I was dangerously close to writing "sex and/or love conquers all" and neither do. So. Maybe I'll rework this into a real story one day.

Kon hit the ceiling. Literally.

Cassie was, of course, unfazed by this, and she implacably continued, "so, if you're sleeping with Tim and you're sleeping with me, does that make Tim your boyfriend or me your girlfriend?"

Kon's heart thumped like it'd break his ribs. "How did you know?"

"I may not have super hearing, but I have _ears_. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Uh...." Cassie flew up to join Kon, who scooted backwards, a wary eye on her lasso. "I...." Was it crackling? He couldn't tell. "Um..."

"Very articulate." Cassie bobbed nearer, snickering. Well, at least she wasn't angry. "I um, well, I was afraid you'd be mad." Once he'd gotten his mouth open, words started to emerge. "I mean, Wonder Woman threw me off the roof for _kissing_ you. How far would you throw me for this?" OK, time to stop; Kon arranged his mouth in a grin before any more words could come out.

Cassie smiled, blue eyes still mild. Maybe too mild... "You're lucky I didn't see you right after I figured it out. I talked to Bart, instead. I can't believe the stuff he found in the library here."

"So, um, you're not mad?" Maybe Kon would get out of this with his skin whole yet.

"I didn't say _that_." Cassie's smile was getting a little disturbing. In fact it was a smirk. She accelerated suddenly, grabbing Kon's biceps in hard hands and pinning him against the wall. "So what can two boys do in bed?" she asked, face inches from his, eyes narrowed.

"Uh..." The way Kon's face was burning, he might have thought she had heat vision. "Ask Bart? He did read a lot---"

Cassie laughed. "I want _you_ to show me, Kon. Maybe then I'll know if I'm mad or not."

 

 

 

 

 

[unrealistically happy ending:]

After, Cassie wants to talk, and Kon says, "do we have to talk? Can't I just make you come six or seven more times?" Cassie laughs, and says, "I could love you," and Kon freezes up. She asks 'what?", her face all open as Tim's rarely is, and Kon starts trying, with a sense of doom, to explain that it'd be a bad idea (she looks mad) that before all this she was a kid but he was pretty much made to be a hero (she looks sad) and "one day I'll get killed and you'll still have a life to live." Cassie considers this, and says, "hey, you talked," and punches him in the arm and snuggles. She says, "you'd better not sleep with Cissie, though, or I *will* hurt you, and I'll get Tim to help me."

 

Author's notes: The TV show led me to the comic book, where I couldn't believe what I'd missed all these years. I already loved Tim from the comics continuity, and Robin from the show (my personal impression of Toon! Robin is pretty Timmish) and I fell in love with Bart and Kon through fanfic. So I bought several graphic novels, and started to really like Cassie. Hence this.

 

[maybe change this to post-kiss pre-really-dating thrashing stuff out. "If you're kissing me and doing it with Tim, then...?"

 

If you manage to make this into a story, make sure it can hold its own with this on the same subject and pairings: <http://www.livejournal.com/users/mizzmarvel/164317.html>


	3. Countertops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This looks like a finished story, at first glance. It's not. It's a second draft, and it's specifically the second draft I sent to [](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/profile)[**brown_betty**](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/) to beta read for me. I spent awhile trying to implement her good advice, then realized that I couldn't make the story work; it needs to convey a lot of information that I couldn't fit into a sex-simmered brain, even Tim's analytical one. (Plus, it has lots of other things wrong with it.) So I'm going to take the concept, pull it apart into bits, organize it differently, and completely rewrite it. But meanwhile, here's this story.

**Posted for my Unofficial WIP Amnesty Week**  
Title: Countertops  
Fandom: DC Comics  
Rating: As it is: NC-17 As it was intended to be: NC-17  
Pairing/s: Dick/Tim (Batman III/Robin III)  
Notes: This looks like a finished story, at first glance. It's not. It's a second draft, and it's specifically the second draft I sent to [](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/profile)[**brown_betty**](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/) to beta read for me. I spent awhile trying to implement her good advice, then realized that I couldn't make the story work; it needs to convey a lot of information that I couldn't fit into a sex-simmered brain, even Tim's analytical one. (Plus, it has lots of other things wrong with it.) So I'm going to take the concept, pull it apart into bits, organize it differently, and completely rewrite it. But meanwhile, here's this story.

Countertops

Inspired by <http://www.livejournal.com/community/scans_daily/81905.html> and not least by Megolas, who said "Now I really really want some Dick/Tim kitchen counter sex. Dammit."

Thanks to Petra for making this darker, brighter, and better. Thanks to Betty for Beta Reading

Text:

Tim's arms are on fire.

OK, no, not really. They just feel like they are, columns of searing flesh instead of functional body parts. His head feels fuller and fuzzier with each moment upside-down, his ankles are aching from pointing his feet straight up, and his palms are sweating against the smooth counter. If Tim needed a reminder that he's not a natural acrobat, and he didn't, this is it.

But Dick is standing behind him, hands an inch from his thighs, murmuring, "that's it, just a couple more minutes, Tim, you're doing great." Tim only has to hold this handstand for ten minutes, and Dick asked him to, Dick who does handstand pushups and walks on his hands as easily as on his feet. Tim can do this. Even if sweat is running off his forehead into his hair. Even if his arms are on fire.

Even if he's an idiot.

Nine minutes ago, while Tim climbed on the counter to reach the sugar, Dick said, "when I was a kid Alfred couldn't keep me off the counters, unless I was on the chandeliers." Tim could hear the grin even with his back turned, and he probably deserved a point for continuing to rummage the cabinet rather than glancing back over his shoulder. He definitely awarded himself a point for not dropping anything when he heard, "I dare you to do a handstand, right there."

Tim doesn't take dares. "Why would I want to do that?" He passed the sugar back without looking, expecting to hear something reasonable about upper body strength or the story of a narrow escape from some supervillain's trap.

Instead he got silence, until he failed his wisdom roll and turned around. Then he got Dick, one eyebrow raised, fifteen kinds of trouble in that smirk. "If you hold it for a full ten minutes I'll give you a reward."

Tim should have jumped down off the counter. Vague plans involving baking cookies and planning patrol fluttered at the edges of his mind. Instead, as he replied, "It's pointless macho posturi--" his voice cracked, hard, the way it hadn't in weeks. Just thinking of it now makes Tim's cheeks burn, and he really needs to learn how not to blush. Sometime when Dick doesn't grin at him, bright and wicked at once. "Just posturing. I don't see any point to it."

Besides those on Dick's gleaming teeth. "Oh, I'll make it worth your while."

Tim opened his mouth, realized if he tried his voice would break spectacularly, and shrugged as nonchalantly as he didn't feel. And climbed up into a handstand.

That was nearly ten minutes ago. Now Tim's shuddering, his arms shaking so hard he can feel damp locks of hair slapping his face. "Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen..." Dick counts, an eternity of heartbeats between each second. "Four, three, two, one, good job!"

As if on a voice-activated switch, Tim's arms give out and he topples over. For a moment all he can see is the floor coming up fast to meet him hard; then he stops, gently, because Dick catches him. "Shit," Tim's face burns worse than his arms. Ten whole minutes and he blew it. "Dick, I'm---"

"Just fine." Dick squeezes Tim against his chest, his broad, hard, warm chest, for a heart-stopping moment, then sets him right side up on the counter. "In fact, that was really impressive." Dick puts his hands on Tim's shoulders. "Considering where you were a year ago."

"But I--" Dick's hands are sliding, stroking down Tim's arms, and the rough warmth on aching muscles makes him shiver. He stammers and has to start over. "But, Dick--"

"So about that reward." Dick's grin sharpens dangerously as he leans in, squeezing Tim's tingling hands, and Tim feels his lips part entirely without his will. He must look like he's been smacked in the face, but Dick--

Oh, God, Dick is unzipping his fly. "Oh. Oh, you don't--" he never says "have to", because Dick doesn't give him the chance; when Dick goes down in one smooth motion, all Tim's words collapse into one shocked bleat. Dick's mouth redefines _hot_ and _wet_ , and when he sucks the pull drags Tim's hips up, rolls his eyes back, sweeps the thoughts out of his mind..

Then Dick stops, pulling back just far enough to take his heat away. Tim shivers, feeling like he's going to die, his heart slamming against his ribs. He tries not to want, doesn't let himself beg, but...

Tim's eyes focus on Dick's tumble of hair, on Dick's face as he looks up, glowing pink over his cheekbones, eyes bright rings of blue around wide pupils, so beautiful it hurts. Tim's throat just clamps shut on any possible words, and Dick's grin cracks his mind like a windowpane. "But I promised, little brother. And I want to." And he goes down again.

"Nngh," Tim moans around the fist he hadn't even noticed shoving into his mouth. He dimly hears the bang of his head hitting the cabinet behind him. He can't feel it, or anything else except Dick sucking, bobbing the ring of his lips on him, holding his hips in big hard hands, fingers curled under his thighs. Dick's pleased hum reverberates up Tim's spine till his brain fragments, and when Dick twists his tongue Tim's eyes cross.

When Tim can see again, all he sees is the light on Dick's glossy black hair. His fingers ache to tangle in it, clutch it, so he folds his hand into a tight fist and whimpers and bangs his head against the cabinet till the bottles inside clank together. He's going to come. There's no way he can hold it off. It's as if Dick is pulling his brain out, and Tim struggles to warn him, groans and gasps, "Oh, oh, God, Dick I'm sorry, I--"

Dick just makes a muffled, half-swallowed sound of encouragement and sucks harder, and Tim utterly fails to breathe and comes, pressing his head back against the cupboard, arching into the pull of Dick's mouth.

And then he groans like he's being hurt, because Dick's licking him through the wrenching aftershocks. With every stroke of Dick's tongue Tim shakes, and his eyes won't open, and Dick is humming around him as if he tastes good. And that's... if Tim could recover thought at all, perhaps he could consider that possibility. If he could think, if Dick weren't pulling off slowly enough to make him gasp. If Dick didn't grab his shoulders and kiss him.

Dick's mouth is hot and wet and slippery salty bitter; Tim realizes that's himself he's tasting, himself on Dick, and it staggers him. For a moment he can't even move, can't do anything but let himself be kissed, let Dick trace his mouth and lick his tongue. Then Dick bites his lip gently, huffing a tiny laugh, and Tim can't _not_ move, he has to clutch Dick and kiss him back, winding an arm around Dick's neck, wrapping his legs around Dick's waist.

Eventually Tim pries a hand free. The effort feels monumental. Tim's body, which he's been training into his obedient tool for a year now, doesn't want to obey anything right now but the pull of Dick's hands. Still, even from the other direction and this distracted, he knows he can unbutton a fly, and Dick doesn't even notice till the second button. Then he startles, his back stiffening, but by the time Tim can think of stopping his fingers have gone on without his brain, undoing all the buttons, nudging into Dick's fly. They barely fit, and the first brush of Tim's knuckles against damp wiry hair makes them both shake.

"Tim." His name sounds different in Dick's voice, like a secret word in another language. "Tim. God." Not least because Dick's speaking against his mouth, lips moving over Tim's, the words meshing into Tim's helpless gasping. "Tim." Dick swallows, audibly, tangibly, and his voice is firmer and thinner when he says, "You don't have to."

_But I want to,_ Tim remembers, maybe a little indignantly. He can't quite say that. But he can drag himself back from Dick's mouth, watching Dick's openly stunned face till he blinks and focuses, and Tim can smirk as Dick's blue eyes widen and kiss him again hard enough to be heard.

And he can shudder, when Dick moans against his mouth. He can't not.

Tim has done more difficult things than keeping his coherence as that moan vibrates through him, as Dick's hands dig warmly into his shoulders, even if he can barely remember his own name let alone whatever it was he did. He reminds himself that he can keep thinking, even though, "oh God oh my God" is on loop in his mind and he's so glad he can't talk because that's probably all he'd succeed in whimpering. Instead Tim kisses Dick awkwardly and messily and Dick just kisses back like he's witholding nothing, like the thought never crosses his mind to hold back.

Tim isn't going to lose himself to this kiss, though his mouth throbs and the edges of his mind are shredding, though Dick's arms are around him tighter than they've ever been. He has to make himself think. Because Dick is hard in his hand, and Tim could jack him if he could make his hand _move_ , if his fingers could stop shakily tracing the velvet-damp curve and this one pulsing vein along one side. But Dick wants more, he ought to have more, and, God, _Tim_ wants more. Dick has him so tightly he can only breathe to Dick's gasping rhythm, and this is like all the hugs Dick has given him back to the first, all rolled together. It all just makes Tim want more, want to be closer, want to do more for Dick. If he could drop to his knees, but that would mean making Dick let go of him--

Dick's groan is just like and the furthest thing from pain, and his hands on Tim's hips press up his back and down his ass, flares of feeling as if he's bringing the nerves to life. Tim winds his legs tighter, hitching his hips forward, and Dick tugs his leg up a bit, and his hand is pinned between their bodies, and Tim shivers.

He shivers again as Dick kisses his cheek, fast and hard, and his jaw, and his neck, and Tim can't stop shaking, and Dick bites him, low over the pulse in his throat, a jolt straight through to his cock. "Fuck me," Tim thinks, if he's even still thinking in words.

The words are so hoarse it takes Tim a moment to realize he heard himself say it, and apparently there _is_ enough blood left above his waist for a nuclear-level blush. Maybe it was mashed out of comprehension against Dick's mouth--

"What?" Dick shudders against Tim and gasps and shakes his head. No such luck. "You want-- you know what you're saying?" He sounds almost disbelieving.

Tim knows what he said, and he can say it again. Squeezing his eyes shut he ignores his blush and Dick's damp hot mouth and says, "Fuck me, Dick. I want, I want you to."

There's a cold endless second for Tim to anticipate Dick pulling free and backing away. But Dick knocks Tim's head against the cabinet with the force of his kiss, and they're both clawing Dick's jeans off and Tim's, and Dick's back ripples beneath Tim's bared legs and clutching hands. Dick kisses Tim hard and dizzyingly, till Tim wants to gasp and his eyes are rolling back and he never wants to let go. When Dick pulls his mouth away Tim stops himself from leaning forward to follow and tries not to resent his body for sucking in air.

At least Dick is gasping, too. "God. Man. Um, lube?"

Point. "Ah." Tim just went through this cabinet. He pries his hands off Dick, reaches up, and rummages. Dick sucking wet marks on his neck is the best kind of unhelpful, but he can concentrate enough to find--- there. A bottle of olive oil tips forward into Tim's hand.

Dick's eyes flare, and his voice is rough and wonderful, but he still asks, "Tim, are you---"

"Yes." Tim kisses Dick the way Dick had kissed him, hard and conclusive, making himself put everything into it with no reserve, and Dick shivers. It almost feels wrong for Dick to be shivering, It's nearly incomprehensible that he can affect Dick like this, and it's even more strange how amazing it feels. If Tim can just keep his head together, just a little longer... he fumbles with the slippery bottle one-handed, because the fingers of the other won't disentangle from Dick's soft thick hair, and when Dick twists off the bottle top oil splashes into his hand.

Almost, but not quite. Tim's probably done more difficult things than setting the bottle down, setting the top on it, and twisting it shut, all while being kissed as thoroughly as Dick always does everything, but he certainly can't remember right now what they were. The only thing he remembers is to bite his lip when Dick strokes him, back and forth, so he can think against the pleasure, enough to breathe and clutch Dick's shoulders for leverage and buck down onto his finger.

Then he can't think at all.

Dick moans into his mouth, softer and even more wrenching than a groan. Tim writhes in a way he didn't know he knew how to do, and Dick's finger slides deeper, and this isn't perfect only because he wants more. He bucks, and Dick presses hot against his inner thigh and gives him more, gives him two fingers that stretch him just a little past his limits, that make him wince and gulp air and barely keep his gasp below a scream.

It's the wince, of course. Dick pulls back, and Tim almost grabs him, almost pushes to meet him again before he catches himself. For once it's holding still that feels strange. "Tim, Tim, the bottle, this isn't enough---"

Tim catches Dick's lip between his teeth, a little ruthlessly, but he can feel Dick pulse against his thigh as he sucks him into another kiss. He bats at the bottle, but it tips over and rolls away, and Tim is not disengaging to go after it. " _Please_." His voice is strained and high and horrible in his own ears, but Dick just pulls him closer, wrapping one arm tight around him. Tim slides his face along Dick's cheek, soft beneath the prickly shadow, till he fetches up against Dick's throat, one cheek against his chin, the other against his T-shirt, a short smooth scar across his lips. Tim pushes his face in and hangs on as Dick picks him up easily, one arm around his back, one hand under his thigh.

Tim should look to see where they're going, because if they wreck the kitchen past their ability to fix it they'll have to answer to Alfred whenever he returns, but all he can do is breathe Dick's sweaty warmth and cling to him. Dick is warmth and solid sinew against him, and he could easily stop thinking and just sink into the way Dick feels.

With all that warmth against his front, the fridge is cold against Tim's back when Dick shoves him up against it. Tim can feel something digging into one side of his spine, but he doesn't really want to take the risk of derailing the proceedings. His T-shirt rides up, scraping maddeningly at his too-hard nipples, and the fridge is distractingly nubbly, for perhaps a moment, but he's being pressed against it by Dick, who's shaking again, and hitching his leg up a little more, and Tim sinks his hands into Dick's hair and breathes and holds on, Dick has him, the muscles in his arms steady and hard as he pushes Tim up against gravity and the pull of Tim's thighs around his waist. Tim thinks of everywhere he could touch Dick, now that he has permission, now that he's got the chance, but his fingers won't untangle from his thick soft hair, uncurve from around his head.

"Tim, Tim." Dick keeps repeating his name as if it's something special, as his forehead tips forward against Tim's; he must be looking at what he's doing, nudging Tim with unerring aim, and Tim consciously relaxes as much as he can, which isn't much. He can't make his eyes open, or let go of Dick's hair. The stuttery slide of Dick into him is heat and pressure edging into pain, and Tim tries not to wince as he pushes to meet Dick, and swallows and breathes and---

And gasps anyway, loud and ragged. Dick pushes, groaning, and Tim can feel his forehead furrow, can feel his own body pressing open. It feels, Dick feels... Tim's mouth falls open and a whimpery moan falls out. "Tim," Dick moans in return, and thrusts again, and lines of fire crackle across the inside of Tim's eyelids, and he never... he expected it to be overwhelming, but this, tangled up with Dick, closer to him than he's been to anyone...

Tim clings to Dick, unable to stop making senseless noises that can't possibly be passed off as words. He pries his eyes open to glance at Dick's face, eyes closed, lips parted, red flush spilling down his cheeks, before the next thrust rocks through him to shut them again. And Dick--- Tim can feel all of him, from his short hard breaths to his sleek muscles to his scars. Tim feels unfinished against those scars.

Maybe as Robin he'll have some one day, but not now, not when Dick's got him. He should help, he shouldn't just writhe mindlessly; he turns his face against the fridge, and it's cool enough to bleed the heat steaming his brain down to something bearable. If he can just think... but he can't think, not with Dick breathing broken words against his throat, "yes" and "please" and "Tim" and "Robin" like a flurry of gut punches. The handle denting his back feels incredibly distant compared to the feel of Dick, close as a heartbeat.

Dick loosens his grip on Tim's thigh, hitching the other up further, and the change in angle--- [put some hesistaton at thinking the word here--- he's young-- or make the whiteout that ensues end the scenelet] Tim's prostate throbs under the next stroke, his vision whites out, and he barely notices the heel of his foot brushing Dick's back, piling up the T-shirt. Dick writhes and tips his head up, sliding his sweaty hot cheek against Tim's; when he licks Tim's ear and groans, "come for me, Robin," the answering shiver is the furthest thing from cold.

Dick's hand on Tim's cock is like an electric shock of pleasure. Tim's whole body jerks, and Dick murmurs in his ear, "that's it, Tim, come on, come for me." Warmer than an order, firmer than a plea, and Tim couldn't deny Dick if he wanted to; pressing his foot against the back of Dick's thigh, Tim arches into his touch and comes in his hand. It feels like it's breaking Tim into his constituent bits, like he'll shatter and blow away, but Dick's got him, holding him with tight fingers, growling low and pleased into his ear.

"Tim, God, Tim, Robin, Tim," between hard little bites to Tim's ear. Dick flattens Tim against the fridge as he thrusts harder and more erratically, and his words break into a wordless gasping wail as he comes shuddering. Tim doesn't know if it hurts, doesn't think he can breathe, and doesn't ever want it to stop.

"Oh, _Tim_." Pushing up a little tugs at his sweaty skin stuck to the fridge; Dick pulls away from him, pulls out of him, and Tim bites his cheek so he won't wince. Dick strokes Tim's legs with damp hot hands, examining him, measuring how much he's shaking, so Tim takes a deep breath and grabs for a little control. After a moment he shudders to a stop and makes his ankles unhook, and when Dick sets him gently down on his feet he doesn't let his knees shake.

Dick leans over Tim, one hand on the fridge. He looks at the other, and Tim looks up at him, at the smile he's trying to tamp down and the wrinkle between his eyebrows. Dick's handprints throb on his thighs, and the fridge handle's imprint over his kidney feels like it must be glowing the same sort of red as the bite pulsing on his neck. He's going to be able to feel this well after he goes home.

"Tim," Dick exhales, and breathes in, and his smile is overcast. "I, uh, got a little carried away."

"I'm the one who was carried." Tim has never been good at banter, and now he feels himself blush, but it makes Dick's grin brighten appropriately. Tim tries on a grin too, and maybe it's the whole postcoital thing but it fits surprisingly well.

And Dick's hand isn't on the fridge anymore, it's warm on Tim's cheek, pushing up into his hair. "Are you okay?"

The right word would be much louder and brighter, but 'okay' will do. Tim nods, and Dick's hand strokes down his throat to his shoulder, and Dick's smile is widening though he shakes his head. "Tim. You, you shouldn't-- I shouldn't--"

"I'm fine." Tim can't decide what to do with his hands with all of Dick to touch and Dick's hand gently rubbing his shoulder. "I'm--" He can't find a word that conveys the way he can feel his disobedient body all the more vividly, feel the blood rushing through him and the tingle in his muscles and the nearly alarming pound of his heart under Dick's hand. "I really--" Dick's forehead is furrowing, and it shouldn't be, Tim needs to say the right thing, but he can't even breathe.

But Dick's expression clears, and his hand reaches Tim's waist. "You're-- you're something else. Your legs aren't even shaking. Mine did. " Dick grabs the hem of Tim's T-shirt, and Tim helps him peel it off.

Dick smudges his messy hand across his own T-shirt and tugs that off too. Tim's almost disappointed, but Dick has on a wifebeater underneath, so he gets to take it off him. He has to rock forward on his toes to do it, but Dick's grin emerges from it wide and beaming. "I guess you're not going home yet," Dick says, a little hopefully.

There is nothing at home like this, like Dick. "I've been taught the fine points of climbing through windows." The grin still feels like it belongs on Tim's face.

Dick's grin is bright enough to light the room. "But do you know how to climb people?"

Another dare. Tim jumps and wraps both arms around Dick's neck, damp smooth skin under his hands, his legs winding around Dick's waist the way they had a few minutes ago. Dick sighs, like he thought there was any chance Tim would leave, as if he needs for Tim to stay, and his hands press into Tim's back, sliding down till one cups Tim's ass. It feels possessive. It feels wonderful.

And Dick just looks at him, as disbelieving as his sigh and warm as his hands. "Against the fridge..." His smile tilts rueful for a moment, eyes shadowed, before he looks up again. "What else do you want me to do to you, Tim? What would you _like_? "

"Everything," Tim tries to say, but his voice won't work. Dick understands, and kisses him gently, rocking them in place as he steps out of his jeans; still kissing Tim, Dick leaves their clothes in a pile on the floor and carries Tim out of the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

[Work in Dick's motivations? Dick just lost Kory and the Titans, and then Bruce and Alfred; Tim gives unreservedly, and he grabs that.]

The tone of this: they aim for cheerful and slide right past it into grabbing hold of each other.

When changing: mostly keep actions the same or more detailed, but change and add dialogue.

This is a Dick who knew about Bruce/Jason. Work that in.


	4. Beneath the Banner of the Bat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This completely crack-addled Fantasy Elseworld, which began with the image of Bruce Wayne in a Kilt (I think the link is in the notes somewhere) and as an excuse to use the line, "have this one washed and brought to my quarters", would have been written for the [](http://dc-flashfiction.livejournal.com/profile)[**dc_flashfiction**](http://dc-flashfiction.livejournal.com/) Lord King Badfic Challenge, but I wrote three whole stories for that challenge. Also, as may be seen in the second IM conversation, I had too much shame to write down what the plot was leading me towards.

**Posted for my Unofficial WIP Amnesty Week**  
Title: Beneath the Banner of the Bat  
Fandom: DC Comics  
Rating: As it is: PG-13 As it was intended to be: R  
Pairing/s: Assorted Batfamily slash, het, and femslash.  
Notes: This completely crack-addled Fantasy Elseworld, which began with the image of Bruce Wayne in a Kilt (I think the link is in the notes somewhere) and as an excuse to use the line, "have this one washed and brought to my quarters", would have been written for the [](http://dc-flashfiction.livejournal.com/profile)[**dc_flashfiction**](http://dc-flashfiction.livejournal.com/) Lord King Badfic Challenge, but I wrote three whole stories for that challenge. Also, as may be seen in the second IM conversation, I had too much shame to write down what the plot was leading me towards.

Text:

The iron gates of Gotham before him, his army victorious and weary behind, Wayne the Bruce at last attained the city of his birthright, the city he had battled and bled to possess. Raising his longsword in one mighty fist, he struck its hilt upon the seam where the gates would part; the clang echoed out over the waiting troops, up to the low wet clouds spread across the dawn-lit sky. "Open!" he called, and the boom of his voice reverberated further than the blow of his hilt. "Open these gates to your prince now returned!" The echoes climbed to the crests of the battlements, before fading into the wind's breathing silence.

The Bruce drew his arm back and smote the gates again. "Open! In the Name of the Far-seeing Empress!" His deep-voiced command rippled around him where he sat like a statue kilted in blue-black-yellow plaid on a cloaked horse of bronze, through the breeze lifting the loosed hair of the silent maiden of battle who ever rode at his left, even out and up to the city's glittering spires.

"Open and admit the Banner of the Bat!" Wayne the Bruce dealt the gates a final blow; they groaned beneath his hand, and the long lines of prisoners trembled in their rough rope bonds. Riding back in the midst of the column rather than at the Bruce's right hand, Dic the Fair dropped his head and shook it, hiding his smile behind the fall of his long hair.

The gates groaned again, and creaked as they parted; they clanged wide to reveal Vizier Akins and the sullen-eyed councilors standing unmounted, bearing on a chased silver platter the keys to the city. The Bruce bowed to them, smiling as if unaccustomed to shaping his face to pleasantry, and reached out with one iron-gauntleted hand, and they raised the keys to his grasp and turned silently as one.

So rode Wayne the Bruce into the city of Gotham, returned from exile with fire and sword in the name of the Flame-Haired Empress, accompanied by his battle maid and his estranged protege, followed by his woad-painted warriors and long trains of war captives. So rode he, and the people of Gotham looked down silent from their towers and shivered at the sight of him, but when they looked upon Dic's smiling face they smiled in their turn.

[scene change]

[lengthen this scene with more description]

The captives were led into the largest market square, and Bat-blazoned awnings unfurled over them as the clearing sky unveiled a bright Sun. The closed shops were locked to keep order, and then the people were allowed to enter in small groups to ransom back their kin and beloveds for gold or silver or fine goods in plenty. Wayne the Bruce rode among the eddies of hurrying people, his black steed sleekly curried, his enveloping helm polished and the bands of paint round his eyes freshly renewed; he surveyed the prisoners and the townsfolk come to fetch them, seeing the frightened, awed faces of the people he would rule as they looked up and beheld him.

The Bruce's roving gaze settled upon a boy of the age to be a squire, his hair a thatch of wild black curls, the line of his back strong and defiant even as he knelt nude in the dust, bare but for rough bandages around shoulder and thigh. When the Bruce paused before him, the face the boy turned up was proud and dirty and lit with two wide-set beautiful blue eyes.

The Bruce pulled rein and dismounted. The prisoners to either side shrank away, but the boy held his gaze with an unafraid scowl. "Boy."

"That's not my name." The beautiful eyes narrowed, and the omitted "sir" reverberated in its absence between them. The right-hand prisoner gasped.

"What would that name be?" The Bruce knelt before the boy, heedless of the hem of his freshly washed kilt or his scabbards dragging behind him in the dust. He stripped off his gauntlet and took the boy's chin in hand, swiftly before he might dodge away, and felt the muscle of his jaw tense, the tension in his strong neck as his head was turned to one side and the other. His shoulders were unbowed and square, solid enough already to heft a two-edged sword, or even an ax.

"Jay," said the boy, not at all muffled by the Bruce's hand holding his jaw. He narrowed his eyes further, till they glittered between thick-lashed lids. "Jay of the Todds."

"And who of the Todds will come to ransom you?" The boy Jay was bruised, and wounded, and beautiful. No young man had ridden at the Bruce's side for long hollow months.

"None remain." Jay closed his eyes, a gesture of pain but not of weakness. The Bruce waited, feeling the warmth of the skin in his hand, the sturdy architecture of bone, and when the boy opened his eyes again they glittered like jewels discovered in springtime mud.

"Then I shall." That flared Jay's bright blue eyes wide, the only sign of surprise he betrayed, as the Bruce rose and gestured to two nearby soldiers. When they came and had bowed he nodded to Jay. "Have this one washed and brought to my quarters."

[scene change]

 

 

Dic the Fair went walking alone in the cool of evening, cloak thrown over his bare shoulders, to see the city he'd heard tales of for long wandering years. As he trod the city's cobbles with soft-shod feet, he thought of his first glimpse of Gotham, when he was a child and his parents' troupe had come to dance for the nobles of the city; he still remembered how he'd spun with his mother, laughing amid showers of little Bat-emblazoned coins. The wealth and the laughter had hid till too late that their ill-luck had brought them to the city just as its ruling council's civil war would end in blood, fire, and exile. His parents killed before him when a squad of soldiers sought to annhilate the Bruce at a dinner party, Dic had fetched up among the jetsam of the shattered, fleeing household, whence the Bruce had found him and raised him to be his right hand, training and teaching him.

But the Bruce had also raised Dic as his son, as his heir, and as his replica, and that last Dic was not.

The streets were dark and close and empty, all Gotham's folk shut away for fear of their new masters. Dic would have to change that, with time's aid; to think better on the question, he sought the heights whose eddying breezes always cleared his wits. Forsaking the ground, he climbed the rough shell-stone facade of a tower, past curtained windows glowing with warmth or humming with low apprehensive voices. From one drifted a woman's sweet song as she worked at some broidery or stitching and chanted softly to herself, and he paused for a few moments, hanging easily from her ledge, and thought briefly to enter.

No, the woman would but fear him. He climbed on, until the breeze blew sweeter and cooler, until the tower narrowed to a crenellated spire. He swung his leg over and rested his elbows on the low balcony, a banner snapping above his head. If he'd been a few years younger he might have climbed up bearing a Bat-stitched flag to replace it and leave the tower's masters puzzled, and he smiled at the thought as he looked out over the city, glittering dark against the wine-colored glow of the sunset's remnants and the deep blue of the sky. The obsidian towers of dark glass and polished stone, flickering with tiny window-lights, thrust upwards like frozen fingers of midnight, their shadows blanketing the lesser buildings. Dic looked across the shadow-swamped streets and wondered how Gotham would appear full of torches and lamps and smiling faces, lit brightly in the night and shining up to the sky.

Something moved in a patch of moonlight.

Dic leaned to see closer. A slight young person -- a woman, obvious even from this distance and the boy's clothes she wore -- dashed from shadow to shadow, bright wisps of hair flaring from beneath her hood. Behind her walked a boy or perhaps a slenderer girl, following the first one's path, and it was soon clear that he was her rearguard.

Two young people, of an age to be easily seduced to intrigues; Dic smiled at them even as he swung back over the edge of his little nest, unhitching a fingerswidth line from his belt to toss it to the next tower. A tug and a leap and he was flying through the air of his new city, borne on the breeze as easily as a bird. He turned in the air, landed and slid along a gabled roof, leapt to another as lightly as he might, and from thence a falling flip brought him down to the street, right before his quarry.

The boy froze. The girl leapt, teeth bared and fists up. Dic caught her easily, tucking her beneath one arm, but in the brief scuffle her hair sprang free of its hood, and he knew he'd seen its like before. With his free hand Dic caught the boy's cloak, but he'd made no move to flee, staring at Dic with eyes that gleamed wide in the moonlight. "You are Dic," he murmured, looking up unafraid. "The right hand of the Bruce."

That made the girl redouble her thrashing. "So he is, and so we're caught!" she snapped, struggling. "Help me, here!"

Dic squeezed her a little more tightly, but though she gasped she did not give in. "Shh," said the boy to her, and to Dic, "Sir, I implore you, set her down. I offer myself as surety that she will not flee."

"Gargoyle's stones, I won't," she muttered, but sounded more restrained by the boy's promise than Dic's hold. Dic nodded and set her down, shifting his hold on the boy to the well-made collar of his tunic. She set herself to the boy's side, glaring up at Dic from beneath her cloud of bright hair; they were of a height, a head shorter than he, and between the boy's gravity and the girl's bantam fierceness he was hard pressed not to smile.

So he allowed himself at least a small one. "Hail and well met, my young friends. Why do you walk city streets in the darkness?" The boy glanced at the girl, who shook her head with extravagant emphasis. Dic sighed a little; the day had been long, and his patience was not boundless. "Why should I not call for the soldiers who keep order in the night?"

The girl flashed him a look of a rabbit feigning foxhood; the boy's eyes narrowed from their first round look, but otherwise he stood like a post, as he had since Dic had stopped them; the girl meanwhile was never still, as full of motion as Dic had been at her age. He could not but help smile, and wider at her pretty scowl. When he glanced to the boy again he was greeted with a cool-eyed observance, as if the first wide-eyed greeting had been well put away, and he realized with a slight shock that the boy's eyes were light, perhaps blue. Rather like... the Bruce's.

Dic shook himself. They had still not answered him, either of them, and he now recalled where he'd seen such hair before. "Why is Tawny Arthur's daughter abroad? On some errand of mischief?"

The boy shut his knowing eyes. The girl gasped, eyes flaring wide. "I am not--"

Dic laughed, and ruffled up her hair. "I saw the man, and you have his hair." She ducked away, but seemed less afraid. "And a name?"

"Stepha." The boy glanced at her reprovingly, but she had shut her eyes, her shoulders drooping.

"He died well," Dic offered.

Stepha repaid him with a bright-eyed glare and a kitten's growl. "He did _not_!" she cried. "He died like the spineless worm he was, and escaped by it punishment for betraying our city. Now Gotham rages at me in his place."

The boy's squeeze to her hand stopped her words, and she shut her eyes again. "And I am Tim," he said, eyes clear and unafraid. "Timanthy of the Drakes. Do with me as you will, but let her go."

Dic was unsurprised to hear this, and delighted when the look Stepha gave Timanthy was neither gratitude nor shock, but a fond angry glare. "I think not," Dic said, as helpless to keep from spoiling the tease by smiling as he was to keep from stroking Tim's fine collar with his thumb. "Let you go into the city, and if you win through that, to the Bruce's men whose camps ring the landward wall and whose ships fill the harbors? You would never succeed. Not as you are." And just as he'd thought, those last four words lit Timanthy's eyes, though the rest of his face was as calm and grave as one might see of a man twice his age.

Stepha's was not, her whole face flickering with fear and curiosity before she pulled on a mask of defiance. "I'm no man's thrall!"

"Not yet, nor need you be." She shut her mouth tight, regarding him sidelong and disbelieving; Tim regarded him evenly, as if judging the worth of his word. Dic steeled his voice a little as he added, "or, take your chances with those who blame your father for Gotham's fate."

"I know your deeds." Tim spoke slowly. "I think... Stepha?"

Stepha set her teeth. "What will I do? Yes. Yes, my Lord Dic. If we are not your thralls."

"My students, then. Both of you." And they both smiled warily, so Dic smiled at them till their wariness melted, Stepha's into an unclouded smile and Timanthy's into something narrow and thoughtful that Dic wished to trace with his thumb.

He did not. Instead he laid his hands on their shoulders, saying, "Come with me," and they did.

 

 

[scene change]

Scene here of Bruce seeing Helena, another agent of the All-seeing Empress, of whom he rather disapproves, and their interaction.

The Faseeing Empress sends her agents, a pair of high born ladies (or disguised as such) to see the city/the results. Intro Jason as The Bruce's lap boy then. And Bruce's attitude towards his city.

[scene change]

 

 

The woad swirled down one side of Tim's face was still tacky when his new lord Dic ushered them up the long spiralling stair within the Tower of the Waynes, soldiers before and behind them in the Bruce's blue-black-yellow plaid. Timanthy wore the red-green-gold of Lord Dic, as did Stepha, and the curls of woad inscribed from their hairlines to their cheekbones should have stood out garish and wild set against their new clothes, the very mark of captivity. Instead Stepha's made her beauty sharper and fiercer, and Timathy's, sticky and faintly itchy as it was, felt like truth upon his face.

Could it befal that they had fallen into their fates? Dic never raised his hands from their shoulders as they walked up and up through the torchlit spine of the Tower, and though Tim knew with his wits that it was merely to leash them in, he couldn't find the defiance within him to resent the warm pleasant grasp on his shoulder, and Stepha, who brooked no curbs nor bonds, climbed contentedly with one hand twined in Tim's.

At last, legs aching, they reached the chamber at the top, one large room faceted like a gem, its wide windows displaying the lights of Gotham far below. Timanthy looked across the room from side to side as best he could, ignoring Stepha's gasp and tightening fingers, because he knew that once he looked towards the throne...

It was carven of gleaming dark wood, and canopied with sable silk, and [Wayne the Bruce sat on it, larger than life and twice as awe inspiring, etc. Describe him.

 

 

[last scene: Tim POV] So Dick takes them to see Wayne the Bruce; [ I have to describe him on his throne with his sable cloak, don't I?] Describe Jason sitting at Bruce's feet like a beautiful wild thing lightly chained and not at all tamed. Bruce's hand in his curls. He and Tim stare at each other and then smile half-unwillingly and Steph talks irreverently to him while Tim tries to shush her. Dic and Bruce are poky and then Bruce says, "if you have students you must learn to be a teacher." That mends things a little. Bruce then uses Cass as a lie detector as he questions them about their loyalties (he asks them if they are agents against him and Steph tells about the abortive plot run by her father's man Rog): Tim shrinks back against Dic, Stepha leans forward. But never call her Cass, call her the Silent Maiden. Cass looks at Stepha and says "Come," and Steph goes to her.

 

 

Dedicate to Maelithil -- see note at end

Maelithil's artwork of Dick: [http://photobucket.com/albums/v340/maelic/?action=view&current=dickkiltcopy2.jpg](http://photobucket.com/albums/v340/maelic/?action=view&current=dickkiltcopy2.jpg)

[http://photobucket.com/albums/v340/maelic/?action=view&current=dick2.jpg](http://photobucket.com/albums/v340/maelic/?action=view&current=dick2.jpg)

[http://photobucket.com/albums/v340/maelic/?action=view&current=jay.jpg](http://photobucket.com/albums/v340/maelic/?action=view&current=jay.jpg)

<http://ciceqi.slashcity.com/touch.htm>

Editing: give Steph and Jason a few contractions each.

Note on names: Bruce= the Bruce (plaid: blue, yellow, black)  
Dick= Dic (plaid: red, green, gold)  
Timothy= Timanthy  
Steph = Stepha  
Cass= The Silent Maiden  
Jason= Jay  
Babs/Barbara/Oracle - The Far-Seeing Empress / The All-Seeing Empress

 

 

[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Do you want to hear my lovingly crafted context for "have this one washed and brought to my quarters"?  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : YES!  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : "Beneath the Banner of the Bat"  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : oh dear.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Wayne the Bruce rides into the newly conquered CityState of Gotham.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : *chortles!*  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : OW, Ny.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : Bruce inna KILT.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : At his side is his mute assassin maiden; further back is his esttran-- don't make me giggle, I can't type --- estranged protege Dic. No k.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : I am a dead gil.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Yes, Bruce inna kilt.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : *DEAD* girl.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : High Fantasy.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : Why does Batman wear a kilt? 'cause Robins can hear zippers!  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Bruce reviews the captives and finds a boy wisWSEQQTE  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : <\--KEYBOARD MASH  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : *hiccups*  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : *giggles merrily*  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : Cass the mute assassin maiden makes me make GLEEP noises.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Reviewing the captives he finds a boy with a dirty face and beautiful blue eyes. He commands that that one be washed and brought to his chambers.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : I think Dic married into the Gordon clan.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : (OH! I could resurrect the YJ Regency AU!)  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Meanwhile, Dic -- no K-- is walking along and catches a boy and girl trying to sneak away--- I think you're right, but Babs informed me she will not be party to this foolishness.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : Oh, Bah! Babs, you are a bodacious babe, and as such you must even know the etymology. Work it!  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Heh. What can I find for Babs to do? Hmmm. Which side will I have her on?  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : Side?  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : the city or the conquerors?  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : She may not be involved.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : She may be elsewhere.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : maybe we'll mention the Red-headed Queen.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Anyway. You can guess who the boy and girl are, right?  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : The boy's Jason. The girl's Cass. Yes?  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : No, Jason is the dirty faced boy, and Cass is Bruce's assassin girl.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : Yes, I got that.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Oh, sorry. I meant the boy and girl Dick catches.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : anyway. Dick catches Tim and Steph (which latter is the daughter of a feckless spy who got killed in the war, and is in trouble because of her father's misdeeds) and [insert some vague bit of plot here] Dick ends up reconciled to Bruce, I mean Wayne, and gives Steph to the Mute Assassin Girl as a present and takes home his own blue-eyed souvenier. Cue stickiness. The end.  
[](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/profile)[ **petronelle**](http://petronelle.livejournal.com/) : Awwwwwwwwwwwww.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : Dear God that's shameful idfic.

 

 

[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : The thing that stopped me was: I realized the Tim/Steph/Jason conversation was going to be, basically, "yay concubinage!" "yeah, I hope he isn't too rough on my ass" "do you think he'll actually teach us anything, outside of how to please him in bed, I mean?" and my shame came rushing back in a tidal wave  
[](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maelithil**](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/) : DAMN YOUR SHAME  
[](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maelithil**](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/): this is not the shame you were looking for! *jedi wave*

Maelithil says that if I finish this with the Happy Catamite Conversation between Steph, Tim, and Jason, she will write the story where Slade the General captures Dic, Right Hand Man of the Bruce, and Dic kills him mid-sex a la Judith.


	5. "Title This Something Brotherly" is my note on what the title should be. "How Bruce Got a Notch in His Ear" was going to be the subtitle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Those scans](http://community.livejournal.com/scans_daily/1392738.html)
> 
> really deserve to have porn written about them. But a better woman than I will have to make it happen.

**Posted for my Unofficial WIP Amnesty Week**  
Title: "Title This Something Brotherly" is my note on what the title should be. "How Bruce Got a Notch in His Ear" was going to be the subtitle.  
Fandom: DC Comics  
Rating: As it is: PG As it was intended to be: R  
Pairing/s: Bruce/Clark  
Notes: [Those scans](http://community.livejournal.com/scans_daily/1392738.html) really deserve to have porn written about them. But a better woman than I will have to make it happen.

[Title This Something Brotherly  
especially a quote from something where the "brotherhood" is emotional only.  
based on <http://community.livejournal.com/scans_daily/1392738.html>  
Subtitle it "how Bruce got a notch in his ear"]

 

 

"Clark."

Bruce doesn't ask; he states. Clark wonders sometimes about his deep, unshakeable certainty; times such as now, as he sits up. He's been waiting for Bruce to call him for awhile now. Not forever, no matter how much his pulse insists it's been an endless wait. It's just been till bedtime, or rather, till their parents went to bed.

Bruce is lying exactly as if he's asleep, curled on his side. Clark almost, almost doubts his own ears, till Bruce opens his cool blue eyes. For Clark, in the moonlight, they're dark and hot and bottomless.

Clark smiles. Bruce keeps looking at him, that way he looks like he's forgotten how to smile because contentment is more than enough. So Clark flies over and picks him up out of bed, both arms wrapped around his waist, and hovers in midair between their beds.

Bruce harrumphs as if he reached forty-five by bypassing sixteen, but his mouth might be easing. "You don't need to carry me."

"You know you love it, though." Clark [squeezes him a little, says, "you do love it, right?" and Bruce gives up and smiles and kisses him. They settle back into bed and have boyish sex while/before discussing the room painting, crime fighting, etc. ]

[When Clark comes he shoots off a blast of heat vision, clipping Bruce's ear. Clark freaks, but Bruce is delighted to have made Clark lose control. They talk about how he's the last of the Waynes, so Clark needs to be careful with him. They talk about how Bruce will need to get married, but Clark will always be with him.


	6. Neither Pink Nor Pale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a cross between a 'day in the life' and a PWP, but even PWPs need a plot, and this one's just didn't... coalesce.

As my WIP Amnesty week continues, for whatever that's worth. At least I'll have these in my writing journal to refer to.

**Posted for Ruby's Unofficial WIP Amnesty Week #2**  
Title: Neither Pink Nor Pale  
Fandom: DC Comics  
Rating: As it is: PG. As it would have been: R/NC-17 .  
Pairing: Batgirl III/Robin IV (Cass / Steph)  
Notes: This was meant to be a cross between a 'day in the life' and a PWP, but even PWPs need a plot, and this one's just didn't... coalesce.

"Stop."

Steph stops. Her stance is a centimeter off in eleven places. The arm over her head shakes, her chest bobs as she breathes, her eyelashes flick the air. She's not blinking, watching Cass -- _listening, laughing_ \-- as Cass walks around her, raising her heel a little, shifting her hips a little, pulling her arm that half inch back. Cass touches Stephanie with the tips of her fingers, a little bit to be gentle and mostly because Steph's skin is damp and hot and soft, and if Cass fills her hands with Steph's skin it won't be a spar any longer.

Steph knows this, and she's laughing. She tilts her head back on her neck--- _happy tired horny happy_ \--- and parts her lips a half inch and groans, hot and low --- _I'll make this noise if you lick me_. Cass's spine vibrates, on the edge of melting.  
[no, rewrite the dialogue. Steph would never say "I give up" with her mouth, even if she would with her body.]  
"God, BG, _please_ ," Steph sighs, tilting her head back a little more. Her back curves a little to keep balance. "I'm beat. Five more, and then we'll call it a night?"

Cass looks at Stephanie, yellow strands stuck to her flushed forehead, blue-green eyes bright, red-pink mouth a hesitant smile. [Rewrite from end of first paragraph. Instead of "let's stop", it ends up being training that shades into sex. Remember, the Bats would use training during sex and vice versa. Next, nail polish and reading lessons and another round of sex, and finally a nap.]

 

 

 

Cass/Steph. "Midair" or something having to do with writing/inscription/scribes/etc

Cass and Steph, Batgirl and Robin. In Cass' "cave" after patrol, stripped down. Cass comments Steph's red nail polish, and Steph says, "we're totally having a sleepover" etc. At one point Steph says that Cass should wear dark polish. And/or paints her.  
use in there somewhere: Story starts with Cass asking Steph what song she's thinking of, because she can see that Steph is thinking of a song even if she isn't humming. Include nailpolish, painting letters onto skin, etc.

Give Steph a broken finger she snaps back into place, or she's about to and Cass sets it for her.

They paint each other and paint on each other and have happy girlish sex. What's not to love?

 

When Steph thinks something pervy enough to get Cass to blink, she laughs and awards herself a point.

 

<http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/millay/online_poems.htm>

"Neither Pink Nor Pale" from Millay's The Witch-Wife, a title for a Cass-POV on Steph

 

 

[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[**rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : AFAICT, no one has actually written "Steph is teaching Cass to read and it devolves into porn."  
[](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maelithil**](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/) : YAY YOU MUST  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : and I was looking high and low for a Cass-Steph plotbunny.  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : So it sounds like a good idea?  
[](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/profile)[ **maelithil**](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/) : it does, man, it really does  
[](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/profile)[ **rubynye**](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/) : OK, good. I wanted to run it by someone.

 

Also, for the Cass/Steph reading plotbunny: Neither Pink Nor Pale. Millay Poetry for a school assignment. She was going to do "my candle it burns at both ends" because it's short, but she liked The Witch Wife. Also, she asked Huntress for advice on teaching reading, based on a comment of Oracle's.

 

Cassvoice:  
<http://monkeycrackmary.livejournal.com/602332.html?style=mine#cutid1>

[http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=hradzka&keyword=Meta&filter=all](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=hradzka&keyword=Meta&filter=all)

 

<http://community.livejournal.com/robin_daily/44215.html?style=mine>

reread/remember. Steph is the experienced one, Cass has the body language reading. Note how that makes them both good in bed.

<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/14633.html>

Great Cass-having-sex story  
<http://mildredmilton.livejournal.com/1011.html>

<http://users.livejournal.com/__marcelo/138107.html>

<http://petronelle.livejournal.com/224782.html>

 

 

Subject: Cass's scent for Neither Pink Nor Pale

Ren: *BAT-WOMAN  
Bat-Woman, Albert Penot.  
Ratkirani, calla lily, moonflower, honeysuckle, night-blooming jasmine,  
French lavender, verbena, grey amber and nighttime air.  
Cass!  
*me: *man, smelling like that, plus leather and kevlar and sweat... Steph  
would have to bite her  
*Ren: *mmhmmmm  
*me: *and then just *inhale*  
*Ren: *with her face between Cass's breasts  
* me: *licking and smelling and nuzzling  
*Ren: *yes

 

Steph's smell for Neither Pink Nor Pale

 

IAMBE  
Daughter of Pan and Echo and dear friend to Demeter. When Demeter was  
mourning the abduction of her daughter, Iambe was the only creature in  
heaven and earth that was able to lend cheer and laughter to the grieving  
mother. Her scent is one of comfort, beauty and joy: Sudanese amber,  
patchouli, rose, gardenia, gladiola and white tea.  
Steph  
*me: *Steph as *robin*  
*Ren: *yes  
*me: *that's totally the girl wonder's perfume  
*Ren: *or it would be, if batman would let her wear it  
* me: *heh  
*Ren: *spoiler Steph -- NYX  
Named in honor of the primeval Greek Goddess of Night. A scent reflecting  
inky black skies and eternal desolation. Night-blooming jasmine, warmed by  
myrrh, lifted by the promise of rose.  
*me: *and Cass would jump her both ways  
*Ren: *well, yeah, it's STEPH  
*me: *that's all i need!

both provided by Katarik

 

Nokomis on the two of them:

Cass loves seeing the way laughter undermines anger in Stephanie’s punches; it’s a soft, shaking line of implicit motion spread from her shoulder to the angle of her wrist, and it’s beautiful.  
She could correct her form, to make her hit harder and more effectively, but she will never show Steph how.  
Because she isn’t perfection - not the way Cass was trained - but... It’s beauty, how freely her emotions play on her body. Especially when she tries to stifle it, and it vibrates, suppressed, along her thighs and belly until Cass can barely watch without _doing_...  
What they both want.


	7. Mashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the promised sequel to "[Muddled](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/196903.html)". I apologize for not being able to deliver, but the story just wouldn't come together.

**Posted for Ruby's Unofficial WIP Amnesty Week #2**  
Title: Mashed  
Fandom: DC Comics  
Rating: As it is: PG-13. As it would have been: R / NC-17.  
Pairing: Nightwing/Robin III (Dick / Tim)  
Notes: This was the promised sequel to "[Muddled](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/196903.html)". I apologize for not being able to deliver, but the story just wouldn't come together.

Tim wakes up completely naked, entirely unmolested, and rather disappointed.

He also wakes up slowly, which is unusual, and out of a good dream, which is unusual. He's sitting with Dick in a pizza place, eating rum raisin ice cream, feeding Dick every other bite. Dick is balanced on one hand on the table, being fed upside down. And the ice cream's warm. Not melted, still ice-cream texture, but warm and sweet and rummy.

The taste of rum melts away from Tim's mouth as he wakes up slowly, feeling as warm all over as the ice cream, especially under Dick's arm over his waist. Dick is naked except for his T-shirt. Tim's completely naked, and his head hurts vaguely, and he feels rather strange... because he isn't sore anywhere.

He's a little disappointed by that.

He shouldn't be. Dick is sound asleep, his cheek pressed to Tim's shoulder, snoring faintly. He probably hasn't slept this long at a time in months. Tim sits up to look at him, ignoring the throb of headache. Dick murmurs faintly when Tim pulls his shoulder away, and tightens his hold around Tim's waist. The early, pink sunlight slants across the bed, glinting off his hair, warm on the curve of his cheek and the muscles of his shoulder. His lips are parted in sleep, he has a half-healed red scar over his ribs. He is, unsurprisingly, strikingly, beautiful.

Tim sighs, and pulls away from Dick's arm around him, and swings his leg out of the bed. He needs water, and a computer, and to not wake Dick up with a kiss, even though he wants to.

When Tim comes back to bed he brings his laptop, and two bottles of water. Dick is still asleep, hand curled by his mouth, and he's kicked the sheet off again, and he's hard, flushed red up against his belly.

Tim doesn't touch. It would be just as unfair to molest Dick in his sleep as Dick felt it would've been to molest Tim when they were drunk. Tim wouldn't've minded, really, but if Dick would've been upset then it's a good thing they didn't. Whatever Tim's role is in Dick's life, it isn't to scramble his already loose brains that much more.

So he pulls the sheet up over Dick again, and lets himself trail only two fingers along scarred, firm skin as he gets up, headed to raid the fridge and snag a laptop.

Then he checks his email, and sips water, and listens to Dick breathe.

It really wasn't unsuccessful, all things considered. Tim had resented the first time he went undercover as a woman, but he'd volunteered for the second, and honestly enjoyed the third. He found himself wondering if he could create an identity, and...

... and it was interesting, becoming someone else. A female someone else. He couldn't help wondering what Dick's reaction would be. And, well, he owed him for [insert cute trick Dick played on Tim here] [and note that Dick is always telling him to enjoy being Robin.]

When 'Thelma' walked into [insert name of bar here], and every head in the place turned, the absolutely best part was watching Dick's blue eyes go round, then crinkle up as he laughed.

And after the stupidest crew of robbers in Bludhaven picked a cop bar to attack, and all the cops ducked, after Tim discovered the real utility of high heels, after several inescapable rounds of drinks...

Tim presses the heel of his hand beneath his eye. After he got ragingly drunk...

Well, Dick was drunk too. And laughing, and he looked --- he felt--- like he wanted to peel Tim's feminine disguise right off him.

Next time, Tim resolves, he's not getting so drunk.

"Hey, Timbo." Dick's voice is rusty, and his smile could inspire cliches. And his hand slides up onto Tim's hip.

Tim smiles, and doesn't move, doesn't want to move. He does hand over the larger bottle of water, though. And he figures he can watch Dick as he rolls on his back and stretches into an impossible arch, pulls one leg and then the other behind his ear, and tilts his head back so his larynx bobs as he swallows.

When the bottle's half empty, Dick lifts one eyebrow and glances up at Tim watching him, and grins around the mouth of the bottle.

Tim blushes, and looks down at his computer screen.

"You look hungry," Dick says, and Tim is, but he wants more than breakfast, even though his stomach is rumbling.

He shrugs. "I'll get some cereal in a minute."

Dick laughs, and nuzzles Tim's side, dragging the tip of his nose up over each bump of his ribs. Tim breathes, and doesn't gasp, and doesn't gasp, until Dick bites his nipple.

Then he gasps.

Dick chuckles triumphantly and kisses Tim's collarbone and his neck and his chin, and Tim turns his head into the kiss. [describe kiss.]

"When do you have to be back?" Dick murmurs over Tim's cheek, slipping his arm around Tim's waist.

Tim doesn't say, "never", even if right now he wants to. He breathes, and feels Dick's arm pressed to his back, and says, "Dad's coming back around four, so I should be home by noon."

"Okay, then. What do you want for breakfast?" [they don't actually get out of bed. Tiny argument over what breakfast food should be: Dick won't take Tim's answer of "oh I'm fine" and insists he should eat real food. Tim says, 'this from a man who eats sugar cereal' Dick says he wants Tim to keep up his strength, with an attempt at mystery and wit that is adorkable.

They get to talking, and talk about appearances/Tim apologizes, Dick starts to say "no apology necessary", then says, "so you want to make it up to me?" and makes Tim close his eyes, then makes Tim finger him. Figure out what Dick does for Tim, probably kisses/hugs and jerks him. And Dick says, "you make an incredible guy", too.

[Work this in, as Tim did it in part to have an excuse to see Dick: If I had time, I would write you comment ~~porn~~ fic where Tim says something similar to Dick, and Dick stares at him till he realizes Tim will think that's "yes, you come by too often" rather than incredulity, so he tackles the kid.]

Then in a normalizing move they get up and make coffee, which is premeasured timesavingly in filters (Tim makes coffee) and pull on clothes. End with Joosetta's drawing image; describe sun having moved enough to leave room in bluish indirect daylight/shadow.] [Find link to art.]

 

 

 

 

Assorted notes:

Credit Joosetta for her drawing image in the story. (Tim and Dick and coffee)

consider and convey the intensity of sensation.

(Dick asks Tim if he wants to go, and pushes Tim till he says he isn't sure what he's supposed to want, and Dick says, "it's not about supposed" and smiles, so Tim kisses him. ]

heart pounding like they'd just climbed the Tower

the way kisses leave one breathless like nothing else does

Mention scanning news to see if anything dreadful happened last night.

 

Tim's perfume for Mashed/Muddled

Ren: *when tim goes out as a girl, he wears this and then wonders why the boys hit on him -- VIXEN  
Lascivious, flirtatious, and vampy as hell. A true heartbreaker's perfume. The innocence of orange blossom tainted by the beguiling scents of ginger and patchouli.

Dick comments on the perfume.

Write Joosetta's artwork in [Tim gets dressed, Dick takes off shirt and write the bandage in], and credit it. Tim wakes up, showers, gets breakfast, brings it back. (Just cereal and toast with cheese.) Dick eats something, they drink coffee, they kiss, etc.

 

[After the sex and Tim opens his eyes again, Dick says, "I don't want you to take what I'm going to say the wrong way, because I love you as the guy you are, but can you put on that dress for me sometime?"]


	8. An Everyday Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [](http://miakun.livejournal.com/profile)[**miakun**](http://miakun.livejournal.com/) for [ this drabble offer](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/353570.html) and Challenge #20: Destroy at [](http://drabble-a-trois.livejournal.com/profile)[**drabble_a_trois**](http://drabble-a-trois.livejournal.com/). 

Title: An Everyday Disaster  
Fandom: DC Comics  
Rating: As it is: PG-15. As it would have been: R at the very least.  
Pairing: Robin/Speedy/Wonder Girl (Dick/Roy/Donna)  
Content Advisory: Bondage, threesome?  
Notes: For [](http://miakun.livejournal.com/profile)[**miakun**](http://miakun.livejournal.com/) for [ this drabble offer](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/353570.html) and Challenge #20: Destroy at [](http://drabble-a-trois.livejournal.com/profile)[**drabble_a_trois**](http://drabble-a-trois.livejournal.com/). 

For miakun

 

Title: An Everyday Disaster

"Hang on, Roy, we'll have this crap off you soon." Dick attacks the webbing with a Batarang, tugging at Roy's collar with his other hand. Donna pulls at the big swath around Roy's waist; when the Spider-Tron had gotten distracted wrapping Roy in earnest, Donna was able to land on it and break it in half.

"That's what you've been saying for the last fifteen minutes." Roy speaks a little carefully, holding quivering-still as Dick's batarang flickers beside his face. Dick wouldn't ever cut him, but at least he doesn't have to make Roy stop moving. "Maybe you should round up a few of my adoring fans, tell them I'm ready and giftwrapped."

"Roy," Donna sighs, putting her feet into it as she yanks harder. A big sheet pulls away, taking Roy's shorts and briefs with it. Oh. And his dick pops out, so hard it's damp at the tip, redder than his top but not as red as his face. _Oh._

Roy gulps, his convulsive attempt to cover himself thwarted by the webbing still gluing his arms to his sides; then he grits his teeth, and Dick can't listen to whatever horrible self-deprecating thing he's about to say. So he kisses Roy to shut him up, and Roy gasps into it and kisses him back.

Donna laughs softly in Dick's ear, puffing once with exertion, and everything Roy's wearing rips away with a long snarling noise. Just like in a fight but better, he feels the teamwork with his body, laughing into Roy's mouth as Donna pushes them both backwards, curling to make room for her and hanging on as she pulls his own top off.

Roy's laughing too, arms tight and strong around their waists, and when Donna kisses Dick, so hard and so sweetly his eyes roll back, Roy says in tones of wonder, "wow, this is better than adoring fans," there's nothing else to do but to roll to the floor, Donna kissing Roy as she pushes her top up her arms, [last line from Dick of settling into the 3 way makeout session].


	9. Palm of Your Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant for [](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**rounds_of_kink**](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/), as you can see by my assorted notes.

I saw that [](http://wip-amnesty.livejournal.com/profile)[**wip_amnesty**](http://wip-amnesty.livejournal.com/) is [open for business](http://community.livejournal.com/wip_amnesty/120933.html)! So I thought I'd toss this here.

Title: Palm of Your Hand  
Fandom: NUMB3RS  
Rating: As it is: PG-13. As it would have been: NC-17  
Characters: David Sinclair/Colby Granger  
Notes: Meant for [](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**rounds_of_kink**](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/), as you can see by my assorted notes.

It hasn't got a name or a classification. It's just a sometimes thing.

David opens his apartment door and smiles at his partner standing there. Colby's hands are shoved into his jeans pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched and his smile tilted ruefully. "Hey."

"Hey, man." David stands aside to usher Colby in, taking his jacket and hanging it in the hall closet. "Good timing, the game's barely started. Want a beer?"

"Nah, thanks, I've had three already." David lifts his eyebrows, and Colby glances down, pink spilling along his cheekbones as he shrugs. "She kept talking, I kept drinking."

That, plus the early hour, pretty much says it all about Colby's date tonight. David whistles, shaking his head as he sets a hand on Colby's back. Colby pauses for a half-step, pushing into the touch, so David leaves his hand where it is, between the slopes of Colby's shoulderblades, as they walk into his place.

There have been other nights like this, when Colby's latest date didn't work out, when neither of them had any plans or the day had been so dark they couldn't bear overly bright faces, in the weeks after Claudia kissed David goodbye and left to advance her career. They kick off their shoes, Colby puts his feet up on the coffee table, they argue cheerfully about whatever game they're watching. And, inch by inch, they slide closer.

[eventually Colby tips his head against David's, shoulders touching, and David leans over and kisses him Talk about sometimes and tonights, tonight David jerks Colby off. Sometimes Colby blows him, tonight he cuddles David against him and jerks him off. Sometimes they get dressed, tonight David simply asks, "hey man, wanna stay?" and Colby nods and says "yeah". Some nights they sleep apart, tonight they sleep together. In the morning David tells Colby about a girl he knows and Colby laughs and says, "give me a few days to recover from last night," and kisses David goodbye.  
.

 

 

<http://community.livejournal.com/rounds_of_kink/436598.html>

Palm of Your Hand

12 ladygray99 DATE: 16 Numb3rs No Handjobs  
Colby Granger/David Sinclair Just 'cause they give each other a hand  
now and then doesn't make them gay.

Colby comes to David after a disastrous date. Handjobs and kisses and  
cuddles and a refusal to discuss whatever it is they are doing.


	10. Three Way Chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The March 2009 prompts from [](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/profile)[**numb3rs100**](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/) as a Drabble Sequence. It struck me that Amita and Larry have a distinct friendship, and I wondered how that came about.

Title: Three Way Chess  
Fandom: NUMB3RS  
Rating: As it is: PG. As it would have been: PG-13 at most  
Pairing: Amita/Charlie, focus on Amita-Larry friendship  
Notes: The March 2009 prompts from [](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/profile)[**numb3rs100**](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/) as a Drabble Sequence. It struck me that Amita and Larry have a distinct friendship, and I wondered how that came about.

 

<http://meignorant.com/3-way_chess>

March Prompts as a drabble rewind.

 

Hits and Misses (204 Darts) -- currently 265

As Amita walks towards Professor Eppes's -- _Charlie's_ \-- office, she sternly pushes a certain question to the back of her mind, though it persists in wriggling its way into her consciousness. Professor Eppes is young, and cute, and her _thesis advisor_ , so she needs to stop wondering who, of whichever gender, he might be dating.

His door is open, his cheerful voice spilling into the hallway. She starts inside, knocking as she enters, and jumps a foot as a dart whizzes past. She forgot the dartboard.

Breathe, she tells herself. It didn't _really_ go right by her nose, she really didn't need to drop her books, and she's _not_ blushing. Kneeling, Amita hides her face with her hair, willing her cheeks to cool as masculine hands pick up two of her texts and hand them to her. "Hello... Amita Ramanujan?" Professor Fleinhardt says, and she nods, smiling weakly, a little too flustered to speak. "Your duties await, Charles," he says as he stands.

"Bye," Charlie calls, smiling brilliantly. Amita glances after Professor Fleinhardt, reminding herself that no matter how friendly he is, Charlie's personal life is his own business.

Then she opens her mouth and asks, "Charles?" Maybe she misremembered what name he prefers.

"Yeah, Larry's called me that since we met." Charlie sticks his handful of darts into the board.

"That sounds intimate," Amita hears herself, and could just die.

Charlie doesn't even seem to notice as he comes around to sit. "He was one of my first professors." He sits, eyes bright, smile expectant, and she nods, tamping down her curiosity. "So, what did you bring me today?"

 

 

Spelling and Patterns (201 Scrabble)

 

Scrabble -- watching Charlie and Larry together.

Spelling and Patterns (201 Scrabble) -- currently 140, very rough  
drafty. put in their conversation and her thoughts. find a linguistic formula. (ask Mark.)

[Old v: Amita goes over revisions to her dissertation's introduction, while idly listening to the Scrabble game behind her. Well, that's what she camouflages herself with, sitting in a chair in Charlie's living room, while she thinks about certain trends she's noticed recently.

She sees a lot of Charlie, and not just concerning her research; he involves her in his work, at CalSci and the FBI, he asks her for her insights, he smiles at her (which is extremely annoying because it's even more adorable). And through him, she sees a lot of Larry. When did she start thinking of Professor Fleinhardt as _Larry_?

A shout goes up, and Amita glances back to see Charlie protesting that "there is _too_ an 'i' in that word," as his father and Larry laugh at him; when he starts citing linguistic formulae, Amita starts laughing too. ]

 

 

Gambits (203 Poker)

Amita looks across the table at Larry, whose face is mild, almost expressionless, as he studies his cards. Charlie is away, which is why she asked about poker tonight. She knows Larry through Charlie, but as she gets to know Charlie better, she's realized she needs to know Larry as himself. [that's almost all notes. turn into an actual drabble.]

 

March Theme: Games

Darts -- on finding them playing darts, Amita notes that Larry calls Charlie 'Charles', blurts out that it sounds 'intimate', Charlie tells her Larry was his teacher, but smiles at her enough to dispel her flaming blush.  
Scrabble -- watching Charlie and Larry together.  
Poker -- she sets out to get to know Larry, by playing poker and deliberately losing. He sets out to teach her.  
Chess -- the three of them  
Video -- far future, watching a video of their wedding and crying happily.

 

 

\---------- Forwarded message ----------  
Subject: Story idea -- Amita & Larry uniting to take care of Charlie

think about it. They must have had that convo when Amita realized Larry was  
part of the package.

 

 

 

Note from Lomedet

This is an awesome idea.  I think it should also maybe include a  
little bit of Charlie being jealous of Amita because *he* was always  
Larry's favorite student, and of Larry becuase Amita is talking about  
mathy things with *someone else*.  Just an idea...*g*

 

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amita_Ramanujan>

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poker>


	11. Fine Like Sparkling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, this was inspired by [](http://iscaris.livejournal.com/profile)[**iscaris**](http://iscaris.livejournal.com/)'s wonderful vid, "Save The Last Dance".

Title: Fine Like Sparkling  
Fandom: NUMB3RS  
Rating: As it is: PG-13 with warnings. As it would have been: same  
Pairing: Don/Charlie  
Notes: Don & Charlie are the vaunted Eppes brothers. For [](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/profile)[**numb3rs100**](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/) 's 'Room Key' prompt.   
27 Room Key  
Fine Like Sparkling

Author's Note: Why yes, this was inspired by [](http://iscaris.livejournal.com/profile)[**iscaris**](http://iscaris.livejournal.com/)'s wonderful vid, "Save The Last Dance".

_Damn_ , Don thinks appreciatively, glancing around at Charlie's fellow convention-goers, picking out girls in shimmery outfits. He hadn't been very happy with his parents for ordering him to chaperone Charlie, but then they hadn't mentioned the amazing costumes, especially the girls in the skimpy ones.

Charlie's showing off for a couple of the skimpiest, covertly glancing at the girls' tits as they coo over his origami. Don smiles at his little brother, a rock star of a geek, and when a passing redhead in purple straps gives him the eye he gives her a grin.

He doesn't go after her, though, and he's not worried about Charlie getting his heart squashed by an elf or sorceress; he'd stopped being annoyed when their Mom gave him the hotel reservation. Their room key in his back pocket, Don knows eventually Charlie will smile at him like he's smiling at that brunette, eventually Charlie will say, "I'm tired, let's go." The girls can giggle at Charlie, hug him and tug on his curls, but Don knows who's going to grab a double handful and kiss that smile off Charlie's mouth.

Until then, Don can hang out here, watching the girls flutter and Charlie shine.

* * * * * * *

Title: untitled as yet  
Fandom: NUMB3RS  
Rating: As it is: PG. As it would have been: PG-13 at most. But with warnings.  
Pairing: Don/Charlie  
Notes: "Paint drabble for [](http://kellis-amberlee.livejournal.com/profile)[**kellis_amberlee**](http://kellis-amberlee.livejournal.com/)" was the working title, as "Paint" was the prompt and it was sparked off of her comment to the "In The Darkness" series. 

When Charlie opens the box he feels his eyes go wide, and it's a good thing he swallowed his mouthful of beer. A turtleneck. Don bought him a _turtleneck_ , and one glance past Dad's indulgent smile to Don's smirk proves Charlie's conjecture upon his motives entirely correct.

_"I've only got one turtleneck," Charlie had teased, as Don buttoned his collar for him, tugging it up as far as possible. "Just one, and now I'll have to wear it every day till all of these fade, because of you."_

[Charlie says, "a turtleneck", Don says, "do you like it?" and Charlie teases, "what are you going to do, paint me green? This isn't my color." Don laughs and says, "you have no idea what your color *is*, Chuck," as Alan huffs at his sons' seemingly fraternal bickering and Charlie and Don share a significant look.]

 

* * * * * * *

Title: Intangible Wishes  
Fandom: NUMB3RS  
Rating: As it is: PG-15 with warnings. As it would have been: same  
Pairing: Amita/Charlie, Don/Charlie  
Notes: [Post-]Deathfic. For prompt # 183 Rescue 

Intangible Wishes

The house is silent, full of flowers and grief, and Charlie's ragged sobs carry clearly through the garage wall. Amita drags herself towards the sound, wishing uselessly one more time for that split second's difference between an ordinary day and this Alan-shaped hole in everyone's lives.

Don's voice is low and soothing, so Amita stops, her cheek curving stiffly into a tired smile as she turns back. She loves Charlie, of course, but even now Don can take better care of him than anyone else--

A strangely familiar noise tugs at her ear, a soft wet smack that can't possibly be--

Amita pushes the door open and has to clutch the frame, the world lurching around her like an earthquake. Don's hands are curved to Charlie's cheeks, Don's mouth is gentle and fervent on Charlie's, Don is _kissing_ Amita's _fiance_ , Charlie, his _brother_ , until Amita gasps aloud.

If Amita had her wishes now she'd wish to forget she ever saw this, that she'd gone back into the house, that she could sink right through the floor. But nothing can rescue this moment, save them from this truth, she sees nothing but two pairs of identically dark, shocked eyes fixed on her.


	12. Skywatching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Coffee, conversation, and combing." Het, threesome (slash implied). Schmoop. And of course, all thanks to [](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/profile)[**lomedet**](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/). Written for the [](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/profile)[**numb3rs100**](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/) 2 Year Anniversary Prompt, "Couple", and as a sequel to "[Another Planet's Sky](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/400475.html)". I don't know why I never posted this before, but its moment has passed.

Title: Skywatching  
Fandom: Numb3rs  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Amita/Charlie/David  
Notes: "Coffee, conversation, and combing." Het, threesome (slash implied). Schmoop. And of course, all thanks to [](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/profile)[**lomedet**](http://lomedet.livejournal.com/). Written for the [](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/profile)[**numb3rs100**](http://numb3rs100.livejournal.com/) 2 Year Anniversary Prompt, "Couple", and as a sequel to "[Another Planet's Sky](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/400475.html)". I don't know why I never posted this before, but its moment has passed.

Contemplating the burbling coffeemaker, Amita heard herself say, "You liked watching us." It was a lazy weekend morning, David asleep in her bed and coffee in progress, but she had woken up with that observation rolling uncertainly around her mind.

Charlie breathed audibly, arms tightening around her waist. "How could I not? You're beautiful, he's handsome, together you were unboundedly hot."

Amita smiled, relaxing a little, and Charlie continued, "Besides, the different vantage let me observe different details."

"Me too." Amita turned around to look into Charlie's sincere eyes. "I don't know why not being up close let me see you more clearly in some ways, but yeah. It was fascinating. You were fascinating."

Charlie's smile tilted sideways. "When you were watching me."

"You mean the guy moaning in math?" Amita framed Charlie's face between her hands, ruffling his sideburns, feeling his smile widen. "My adorkable, brilliant boyfriend? Yeah, I watched David, but I was watching you."

He laughed, sliding his hands up into her hair. "The same." Charlie's eyelids lowered, and Amita leaned in eagerly; then his fingers snagged in her hair and she winced. "Ack, sorry. Ow," he apologized, letting go.

"Ow," Amita agreed, deliberately not stepping back until Charlie's forehead unfurrowed. "I guess I should comb my hair."

"Let me?" Charlie lightly closed his hands around her wrists. "I'd really like to."

"Really?" He'd never asked before.

Charlie shrugged a little. "I love your hair," he said softly, almost shyly, and Amita nodded, turning her hands to squeeze his.

 

 

 

When David got up, following the smell of coffee, he found them on the couch; Amita sat, palms flat and back straight, as Charlie carefully pulled a comb through a handful of her hair. He glanced over and she waved, both of them wearing the same cheerfully shy expression; David nodded in response, leaning against the doorframe as he smiled.

 

 

************** 

Title: Quincunx: Five Permutations  
Fandom: NUMB3RS  
Rating: As it is: PG-13. As it would have been: NC-17  
Pairing: Alex (the numerology professor)/Amita/Charlie  
Notes: Meant for [](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**rounds_of_kink**](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/), but never got off the ground.

And then write these, and three more scenes:

Charlie imagining them together

Charlie and Amita ganging cheerfully up on her

[one more]

Put in notes that first line is prompt.

Maybe it's because she's been in school all her life, but chalk is Amita's favorite aphrodesiac. The slight alkaline taste of it coating fingers pressed between her lips, the powdery smoothness of chalk-dusty hands down her skin. The scent flaking down as Alex briskly wrote on the chalkboard above their heads, as Amita knelt on a cushion beside Charlie and Charlie kept surreptitiously trying to work his fingers into the knotted scarves around his wrists.

 

[The game is that each time they answer a question correctly they get rewarded and the better student gets a prize. At the end Amita's the better student and her prize is Charlie, whom she leaves tied to the chair as she rides him and Alex leans over him and kisses her.

 

Or, instead of above:

 

"Sacred Spiral"

Reread book of sacred sexuality. and take Charlie out of bondage. After discussion of spirals and numerology (Ulam's spiral) Alex arranges Charlie and Amita in a position corresponding to a spiral and it has Effects.

Basically... pillow talk leads to Alex's cheery didacticism and Charlie and Amita taking role of students.

Alex leans over Charlie to kiss Amita and Charlie reaches up to her hips and asks her to sit on his face and she says, "that would make this a triangle."

Alex needs to come too. Figure out how that happens.

Or, do 5 ideas. 'Quincunx: 5 ways Amita and Charlie brought Alex Trowbridge into their bed."

 

 

986 -- melissima

03 <\-- due this day in June

Numb3rs

No

Alex Trowbridge/Amita Ramanujan or Alex Trowbridge/Charlie Eppes/Amita Ramanujan.

Maybe it's because she's been in school all her life, but chalk is her favorite aphrodisiac.

Teacher/Student roleplay

 

 

<http://redhawke.org/content/view/519/11/>

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Numerology>

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gravitational_constant>

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dirac_large_numbers_hypothesis>

[http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp?artid=366&letter=N](http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp?artid=366&letter=N)

<http://www.psyche.com/psyche/qbl/comparative_numerology.html>

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/23_Enigma>

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gematria>


	13. Hybrid Vigor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley lets loose sex pollen on the _Enterprise_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *giggles helplessly*

So it's a new year, time to clean out my fic folder. Hence, a round of WIP and NIP Amnesty.

Title: Hybrid Vigor  
Rating: As it is: R As it was intended to be: NC-17  
Characters/Pairing/Threesome/Whatnot: Kyle/Riley, Kirk/McCoy, Al'e/Cooperton, assorted and sundry others mentioned, depicted, etc  
Content Advisory: SEX POLLEN  
Prompt/Plotbunny/Summary: Riley lets loose sex pollen on the _Enterprise_.  
Notes: *giggles helplessly*

"... this pipette to water the seedlings, 3 ccs each. These racks need rearranging every other day for even light exposure, but don't switch the plants between them; the Ravelian Pellitory can't go next to the _Nymphadenia_. And _don't_ remove any plants from the Botany lab. Any questions, Riley?"

After that avalanche of instructions, Lieutenant Kevin Riley of the _USS Enterprise_ has just one. "When do I get out of here, Sulu?"

"When your shift's done." Sulu picks up a pair of long, crinkly-polymer yellow gloves and slaps them into Riley's hand as he turns on his heel and heads out. Riley glares ineffectually after him as he pulls them on, sighs as the door shuts, and starts working off the first shift of his disciplinary assignment in Botany, with nothing but the quiet whooshing of the ventilation system to keep him company.

While Riley's rearranging the racks, which is total and utter busywork, a small black pot catches his notice. It was clipped off one of the seedling flats, and it holds a bushy little plant full of small stems and tiny leaves, crowned by four fat buds and one half-open flower the same pale blue as Lieutenant Kyle's eyes when he smiles. Not that Kevin notices things like that, but he does see that the plant doesn't even have a proper computer-generated tag with a barcode and its information in four scripts; instead there's a snipped wedge of the same black seedling-flat polymer, labeled 'NYMPHADENIA X ??' in a scribble of white ink and jammed into the soil, some pale surface roots curving around the makeshift label.

The poor thing's unregistered, potbound, and obviously forgotten, and John, that is, Kyle, was just going on the other day about the flowers one of his fifty sisters grows back on Earth. Kevin Riley holds the pot up, turning it, and decides that this plant is coming back to his quarters tonight. What's the worst that could happen?

** _thirty-sex hours later_ **

Maybe Jim should've fought a little harder to get them that shore leave, he wonders as he heads for Bones's quarters. His crew seem to be suffering from cabin fever, or an epidemic of horniness, or _something_. Scotty greeted him in the transporter room with an epic bitchfest about Transporter Tech Kyle being a no-show, as were Siminak and Riley to Engineering; when Jim's comm beeped, Spock's text message was its own kind of desert-dry bitchy, all about the decimated Alpha shift and full of subtle hints -- no one does subtle like his Vulcan -- about how maybe Chekov and Sulu are a little too young to be the primary helmsmen after all. That raised Jim's hackles with its unfairness but makes him wonder just what kind of display they put on before Spock dismissed them; as he turns the corner he drops Uhura a note and grins a little at the thought of the story she'll tuck between the lines of her reply.

Jim's about to drop another message to Bones, who sent him something cryptic about "can't work in Sickbay, meet me in quarters," when he rounds the corner and finds two girls -- Ensigns, he means Ensigns -- tangled up below a comm terminal. He recognizes Al'e by her gorgeous round butt, up in the air as she kneels over the other girl, who's got a long burnt-umber leg flexing around Al'e's waist, and isn't that Cooperton, Sulu's Alpha Shift relief? Why isn't she on the Bridge? What the really fucking sexy hell?

Jim folds his arms and clears his throat. The girls keep necking, and part of him -- specifically, the part that's half-hard already -- wants to stand and watch, which both makes complete sense and is completely unprofessional of him. He's a little afraid he'll have to tap Al'e's shoulder -- bending down would put him that much closer to the floor, he might just end up in the fray, he hopes and worries and drags up a mental image of one of Bones's more disappointed glares for an antidote-- but Cooperton makes a noise that's too sharp for a moan, and Al'e tosses up her glossy head, her eyes round and her mouth plump and wet. "Captain!"

"On your feet, Ensign." Jim watches Cooperton pull her hand from under Al'e's skirt and tells himself he should feel as disapproving as he's trying to look as they disentangle themselves and wobble to their feet, unable to keep their hands off each other. Their fingers end up tangled as Cooperton looks at her feet and Al'e stares at Jim, smudging a hand across her full tender lips, and, really, this is kind of ridiculous, his thoughts included. "Do I even need to list the regulations you've just violated?" They both shake their heads; Cooperton's hairband is askew, and Jim's eyes want to track the diagonal of her now lopsided puff of hair, or maybe the way her chest's still heaving. "Ensign Cooperton, why aren't you on the Bridge?"

"Lt. Thella relieved me when I reported feeling indisposed, Sir." Cooperton keeps staring at her feet.

At least someone's flying Jim's ship. "So noted. You're both dismissed to quarters pending further disciplinary action."

"Sir," asks Cooperton, looking down crosseyed as she raises her head, "may I be dismissed to her quarters?" She finally looks up, trading a wide-eyed glance with Al'e before staring at Jim like she can't believe what she just said, which makes at least two of them.

Three, as Jim opens his mouth to answer that incredibly ridiculous request and "Yes" comes out. What. The. Hell. His eyes cross trying to look at his own disobedient mouth as Cooperton and Al'e scurry away, still hand in hand.

Something's definitely affecting his crew, his ship. Come to think of it, there's a certain fuzziness creeping in from the corners of his mind, like fog rolling in over the Bay back in San Francisco, a warm mugginess to the air, a lightness like a gravity malfunction.

Jim passes two more couples on his way, and leaves them alone because of the answering throb in his blood, because he may not have all that much time before he succumbs to whatever's going on. As soon as the door slides open he asks, "Hey, Bones, have you noticed the crew going sex-crazy?"

Okay, he's a little disappointed when Bones doesn't even lift his eyes from the console, but he's also relieved -- no matter what, he can rely on his CMO. "Had to sedate my entire Sickbay." Bones's fingers fly over the keyboard. "And I can't raise Chapel -- she's in Lieutenant Gaila's quarters, I think we're not seeing them till this is over."

Jim whistles, and lets himself enjoy that mental image of writhing pink and green and red and gold for precisely the three strides it takes him to cross the room. "So, what've you got?" he asks as he leans over Bones, looking at the screen, where molecular models flicker in quick succession. "What's causing this?"

Bones hunches his shoulder a bit. "My current hypothesis is some kind of plant-based psychoactive alkaloid, most likely in the air supply from the speed of onset. I set up a comparison program to find exactly which one we're dealing with, and dropped Spock a line to have Science pull some vent filters and look for pollen fragments. Dammit, Jim, could you back off a little?"

Jim stands straight, but Bones spins to face him, and under his stormy eyebrows his irises are bronze-rimmed discs of black. _Oh._ Bones reaches out to hook his fingers in Jim's waistband, scowling as he does it, and Jim could've dodged, but he didn't. He doesn't. "Uh, what did Spock say?" Jim asks as Bones yanks him close again, so he's standing between his thighs. His long, strong, muscular thighs under thin black cloth Jim knows he can rip right through.

Jim balls his fists instead, as Bones's hot fingertips sliding up his ribs make him hiss, as Bones bites that plump bottom lip and scowls harder and says, "Haven't heard from him." He shoves his face against Jim's chest, his growl muffled but clear. "I should'nt've called you here."

"Why did you?" Jim rests his fists on Bones's shoulders, thinking of how Bones's hair would feel sliding between his fingers. "Why'd you leave Sickbay?"

Bones tips his face up to give Jim that familiar _are you defective?_ glare that always makes him grin. "Because I had five exemplary young medical officers laid out unconscious on biobeds," he snarls. " _Helpless._ " His drawl's thickening, voice all rough honey as he nuzzles Jim's belly and pushes his shirts up. "If I'm gonna succumb to whatever sex pollen nonsense has got us this time, I should at least be with you."

Something melts inside Jim, a different warmth from the heat spiking under Bones's hands, a different fuzziness from the fog invading his brain. "Awww," he singsongs, unfurling his fingers around Bones's ears, "because you're my _boy-friend_?"

Bones snorts against Jim's bared navel, grumbles even as he follows it with a hot swipe of tongue. "Conceited infant," he mutters against Jim's skin, tugging him close as Jim pushes his hands into that thick silky hair and sighs happily. "C'mere."

"We should be working on fixing this," Jim says, mostly to his own legs as they swing over Bones's thighs and settle him onto Bones's happily bumpy lap. [sitting on his erection. "Don't you think I know that?" as he peels the shirt off. "I should be doing X or y or--" and shuts himself up with Jim's mouth. ]

["awww" Jim's warm fuzzy reaction, "because you're my boy-friend?" Bones grumbles, "Christ Almighty" and hauls Jim into his lap. Necking, hail from Cupcake aka Matthews that Spock and Uhura have barricaded themselves in a turbolift, Bones chewing on Jim's shoulder as Jim rests his chin on Bones's head and comms Uhura and gets nothing, calls Spock and gets a breathless sounding XO, says "go for it, it might clear your head", Bones says, "is that your plan, Jim?" Jim says "Yeah," Bones tips them both to floor and kisses Jim and lube and stroking, maybe fingering. Discussing situation during sex.

Afterwards, Jim can think a little, Bones less so, and they call Sulu and find him in a similar state with Chekov. How did plant get out, Botany lab air supply is separate, like science -- Riley. When Jim and Bones separate, horniness overwhelms them again, convo where they figure out the effect is strengthened by trying to separate. Bones begins Jim to come back, Jim does and ties Bones to desk and kisses him and heads out. Finds Gaila in hall, she says she wore Christine out. Call Sulu again. Chekov tied him to chair. Gives info on counteragent. [Spock & Uhura do something (confirm McCoy's theory, comm everyone, etc.) -- nah. See below.] Need to get rid of plant. Riley's quarters, Kyle and Riley sacked out, waves of horniness makingness rolling off plant, Gaila detatches it from wall and they airlock it; jeffries tube/ship love/Jim-Gaila kiss: find Scotty curled up with engines and release counteragent and/or anaphrodesiac. At end maybe hear from Spock and Uhura, having finally finished having sex.

Coda: Jim amused at blushing Chekov, but grumpy because no one will put out [Bones: Jim, you're pretty, but you're not that pretty], sentences Riley to vaccuum-dusting Jefferies tubes, last lines Riley woefully singing 'Kathleen'.]

 

**Notes:**

 

Write for v-day

<http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/270229.html?style=mine>

["awww" Jim's warm fuzzy reaction, "because you're my boy-friend?" Bones grumbles, "Christ Almighty" and hauls Jim into his lap. Necking, hail from Cupcake aka Matthews that Spock and Uhura have barricaded themselves in a turbolift, Bones chewing on Jim's shoulder as Jim rests his chin on Bones's head and comms Uhura and gets nothing, calls Spock and gets a breathless sounding XO, says "go for it, it might clear your head", Bones says, "is that your plan, Jim?" Jim says "Yeah," Bones tips them both to floor and kisses Jim and lube and stroking, maybe fingering. Discussing situation during sex.

Afterwards, Jim can think a little, Bones less so, and they call Sulu and find him in a similar state with Chekov. How did plant get out, Botany lab air supply is separate, like science -- Riley. When Jim and Bones separate, horniness overwhelms them again, convo where they figure out the effect is strengthened by trying to separate. Bones begins Jim to come back, Jim does and ties Bones to desk and kisses him and heads out. Finds Gaila in hall, she says she wore Christine out. Call Sulu again. Chekov tied him to chair. Gives info on counteragent. [Spock & Uhura do something (confirm McCoy's theory, comm everyone, etc.) -- nah. See below.] Need to get rid of plant. Riley's quarters, Kyle and Riley sacked out, waves of horniness makingness rolling off plant, Gaila detatches it from wall and they airlock it; jeffries tube/ship love/Jim-Gaila kiss: find Scotty curled up with engines and release counteragent and/or anaphrodesiac. At end maybe hear from Spock and Uhura, having finally finished having sex.

Coda: Jim amused at blushing Chekov, but grumpy because no one will put out [Bones: Jim, you're pretty, but you're not that pretty], sentences Riley to vaccuum-dusting Jefferies tubes, last lines Riley woefully singing 'Kathleen'.]

 

 

 

 

Write for v-day -- No, HALF BIRTHDAY.

<http://near-family.livejournal.com/4545.html>

My comment to Lomedet on this:

So, I figure two of Sulu's plants, being closely related, hybridize to create the Sex Pollen Flower. [Also work Kyle and Riley in here -- Riley is assisting in Botany.] Kirk is indulgently amused when S&C can't keep their hands off each other, shocked and laughing when S&U can't, and a bit alarmed despite the multiple orgasms when he and Bones can't [ETA, credit blcwriter: Jim is unaffected, but Bones isn't]. [Bones is alarmed as much because he's telling Jim he's irresistible as because he finds Jim so.] Tucking Bones in afterwards. Jim and Gaila and maybe Hikaru figure it out in a vidconference, and Gaila, whose symbiotic plants protect her [Jim's used to functioning despite being really horny], leaves her current SO (maybe McKenna or Ensign Ale or Chapel) sated in their bed and airlocks the thing and gets the decontam running and the antidote dissemenated. Maybe Jim, being half an Orion himself (not literally) sidekicks her on the mission, since it *is* his story. [At end, everyone is temporarily not horny except for Jim. credit lindmere.]

 

Actually, Bones stays awake, but Jim has to handcuff him to his desk and leave him to work on a cure.

 

Original Prompt:

<http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/7030.html?thread=17039734#t17039734>

 

One of Sulu's plants give off spores and feeds on sex. Couples of the ship (Kirk/Bones, Spock/Uhura, Sulu/Chekov, others welcome) cannot get more than three feet out of each other's sight before they're inundated with the impulse to screw more. The plant feeds off it.

Bonus points if Gaila is the one who gets to slay the beast.

 

 

Include Lt. Freeman somewhere:  
[http://users.livejournal.com/_samalander/219443.html?thread=1862195&style=mine#t1862195](http://users.livejournal.com/_samalander/219443.html?thread=1862195&style=mine#t1862195)

 

<http://roflolmaomg.livejournal.com/83574.html>   
<http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/330.html?thread=157002#t157002>   
<http://thistlerose.livejournal.com/1123978.html>   
<http://the-dala.livejournal.com/606458.html>   
<http://eudaimon.livejournal.com/643355.html>   
<http://re-white.livejournal.com/278403.html>   
<http://community.livejournal.com/kirk_mccoy/1032764.html>   
<http://savoytruffle.livejournal.com/98858.html>

 

 

\---------- Forwarded message ----------  
Date: Thu, 21 Jan 2010 20:02:21 UT  
Subject: Reply to your comment...

lindmere (lindmere) replied to a comment you left in your LiveJournal post  
(<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/456182.html>). The comment they replied to  
was:

> It's the whoooole ship. LD Although ack, I appear to have left something  
> out of my description, because the story has to be at least primarily  
> K/Mc. Which is a pity, because I really like your ideas.

Their reply was:

Ah, I get it (I think). I kind of like the idea of Bones stuck somewhere  
and being a helpless witness. Maybe he's under siege in Sickbay because  
of all the people who want to get with him.

To have McCoy be an active participant without actually being  
side-by-side with Kirk and Gaila, I think you have to assume that K&G are  
working the non-medical side of the problem. McCoy is in Sickbay trying  
to come up with an antidote (and maybe fighting off the advances of his  
"guinea pig" patient). Meanwhile, K&G are looking at engineering  
solutions that probably center on life support systems (filtering out the  
spores, selectively killing the plant, etc.) It might be funny if the  
cure involves giving everyone the reverse of the spores--something that  
kills their libido long enough to starve the plant.

From here, you can:

\- View the thread starting from this comment:  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/456182.html?thread=6169078>  
\- View the entire thread this comment is a part of:  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/456182.html?thread=6165750#t6165750>  
\- View all comments to this entry:  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/456182.html>  
\- Reply at the webpage:  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/456182.html?replyto=6169078>  
\- Delete the comment:  
[http://www.livejournal.com/delcomment.bml?journal=rubynye&id=6169078](http://www.livejournal.com/delcomment.bml?journal=rubynye&id=6169078)  
\--  
LiveJournal Team  
LiveJournal.com  
Read the latest LiveJournal news at <http://news.livejournal.com/>

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	14. Jamais Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Boyce said I'm the only captain he knows who would stumble onto a bodyswap device on shore leave."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant as a WNW gift for [](http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/profile)[**circ_bamboo**](http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/). I think I posted a trimmed chunk of this sometime or other, but I can't find it.

Title: Jamais Vu  
Rating: As it is: PG As it was intended to be: NC-17  
Characters/Pairing/Threesome/Etc: One/Pike  
Content Advisory: Bodyswap and consequent genderplay  
Summary: "Boyce said I'm the only captain he knows who would stumble onto a bodyswap device on shore leave."  
Notes: Meant as a WNW gift for [](http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/profile)[**circ_bamboo**](http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/). I think I posted a trimmed chunk of this sometime or other, but I can't find it.

 

One's quarters do not look like her own.

Nothing has been moved, nothing has been altered, but the room feels infinitesimally smaller, and the fingers she trails along her shelves and bulkheads are larger and broader, their nails bare of polish, their knuckles square. She turns and there's empty space at her hips while her shoulders jut into the wall. In truth, it isn't her room that has changed.

Her door chime sounds, and when she calls 'Enter' she finds herself, unsurprisingly, looking into her own face, angular jaw and heavy hair and familiar blue eyes, but neither the sparkle nor the smirk are hers. "Hello, Commander," her Captain says with her voice.

"Captain Pike," she responds with his. "Come in."

He steps across the threshold, swinging her limbs, and promptly strikes a hip on the side table. One watches in worried fascination as her own face creases in pain, her own voice snarls, "Ow! Dammit, these --" He measures her hips between her hands, letting loose a low musical growl as he looks down at them, and something shifts and melts inside her, hot and liquid.

He looks up smiling. "You're laughing at me, banging up your body."

She shakes his head. "You should see what I've done to your shoulders." He smiles wider, and she admits a moment of vain pride to herself that the effect is quite pleasant; he reaches forward and her hand feels narrower and more delicate than she remembers when she wraps it in his. "Chris," she says, with his voice, and watches him close her eyes and shiver with her body.

"One," he says, softly, raptly, and looks up at her again. "Did Boyce tell you he would send me here?"

"He said he thinks we should remain in the same space until the effect reverses. What did he say to you?"

"That I'm the only captain he knows who would stumble onto a bodyswap device on shore leave, and that I'm luckier than I deserve that you were standing beside me when I set it off. And he's right." He steps a little closer, as close as they dare stand in public, and as he lifts her chin she watches the way her hair falls back from her throat and wonders if he did, before.

[steps closer, and says Boyce is right, though it's odd to be looking up into his own face. I didn't know my eyebrows could do that.]

["when do you think this will wear off?" "eight to ten hours. Spock sent scans to this wunderkind student of his at the Academy and she helped him translate. Also confirmed by the chroniton measurements.]

[she asks after his psychology and he says he's fine, more laughter]

[they sit down, he apologizes for making her miss shore leave, she tries to say 'false modesty does not become you' sharply but it comes out a rumble, he laugs and says here we are for shore leave, what do we do now, she says, 'in the spirit of scientific inquiry,' and he laughs and says 'well of course' and they make out. Noting bruises where they banged themselves. He asks when she strokes him if this is how it feels when he does it to her, and she says, "I would expect so, let's find out.

During sex: touching themselves, One thinking about remembering this precise intensity of touch to use on him later. He talks about when his chest hair came in.

Afterwards, there's no fanfare, no tingle, no nothing; she closes her eyes and wakes up in her body and he's in his. Was fun but a little masturbatory, nice to be back. Do you think we'd switch if we had sex again? We can always switch back. End with kissing.

 

 

 

 

 

Pike/One, One POV, quartersed by Boyce during shore leave.

<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/22361.html>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3Astar%20trek>  
do some research.  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/479899.html?thread=6668443#t6668443>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/19705.html>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/19284.html#cutid1>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/19094.html#cutid1>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/16649.html#cutid1>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/16430.html#cutid1>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/7948.html#cutid1>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/6483.html#cutid1>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/4485.html#cutid1>  
<http://circ-bamboo.livejournal.com/2675.html#cutid1>  
<http://community.livejournal.com/pike_numberone/78703.html>  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/479899.html?thread=6668443#t6668443>

 

 

<http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/2654.html?replyto=1538910>

Pike/Number One or ...

...

So, Our Heroes find the body-swap device from Turnabout Intruder, get their bodies swapped and, upon finding out that the effect is temporary so that they can stop freaking out about being stuck that way forever, decide to go get to know their new temporary bodies.

Sexily.

 

(Extra bonus points of the dudes have a hard time adjusting to having their center-of-gravity relocated to their hips. This means running into tables and general awkwardness, because I am projecting and because after nearly ten years with hips I am still not completely used to them and still run into tables and stuff all the damned time.)


	15. Souls That Would

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God bless the Chertians, this is the best captivity ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought Hikaru deserved double the Pavel. Title, as always with these two, from "Starlight".

Title: Souls That Would  
Rating: As it is: PG-13? R? As it was intended to be: NC-17  
Characters/Pairing/Threesome/Etc: Chekov/Sulu/Chekov  
Content Advisory: Threesome, duplication, PWP.  
Summary: God bless the Chertians, this is the best captivity ever.  
Prompt/Plotbunny: See notes. Would have been for a Chekov/Sulu fest.  
Notes: I thought Hikaru deserved double the Pavel. Title, as always with these two, from "Starlight".

To be honest, Hikaru should be much more worried, but when the chamber irises open to reveal _two_ Pavel A. Chekovs, one draped against the curved wall and the other sitting back all pink-cheeked, trying to look as if he hadn't just been sucking on his doppelganger, this whole being-captured-undressed-and-interviewed-by-pervy-insectoid-aliens situation just doesn't seem so bad.

"You couldn't resist, could you?" he asks, folding his arms as the door irises shut behind him, and if he ignores the skittering noises from outside as the observers find their places, it's just like that time he used the Bolian duplication chamber to blow Pavel's mind. Especially when two Pavels shrug in unison, Left Pavel against the wall smirking a little, Right Pavel on the floor opening his wet pink mouth, and Hikaru couldn't pick which to kiss first if his life depended on it.

"Opportunity for experiment," Right Pavel says, with that 'let me explain everything' attitude that's just a little supercilious and way too fucking hot.

"The results were mixed," adds Left Pavel, and Right Pavel glares at him; he glares back, and Hikaru has to bite his lip against downright giggling. "It was a very nice blowjob, but a little masturbatory."

"Well, you _are_ me," says Right Pavel, holding up a hand to each of them. Hikaru takes it and pulls him up; huffing scornfully, Left Pavel folds his arms and leans against Hikaru's other side, and he's got two Pavels pressing against him, ropy-muscled and proudly trying to stare each other down. God bless the Chertians, this is the best captivity ever.

"You're going to be the same Pavel once we get out of here," Hikaru reminds them, to forestall any arguments about who's the real Pavel, as he wraps his arms around their identically narrow waists. "I have double memories of that Bolian duplication chamber, remember?"

"Double memories of you will be good to have," Left Pavel says as Right Pavel tips his face up for a sweet kiss, and continues, "oh, that does look nice. The Chertians have requested we demonstrate a 'double entwinement' as part of their investigation of humanoid sexuality. Enough, my turn."

Right Pavel lightly shoves Left Pavel's chest, but pulls back from the kiss, and Left Pavel shoves Hikaru back against the door, kissing him hard. Hikaru spares a thought to wonder if Pavel's personality might have been divided, but it melts away under the pushy heat of Pavel's tongue in his mouth and both of them pressing identical hard cocks against his hips. He should ask for a fuller report -- so far the Chertians just seem inquisitive, but they _could_ pull out scalpels or some mind-sifting tech -- [but LP keeps kissing him and RP says he has thoughts on that, on making a pilot sandwich. If you're okay with it. Let him talk! LP backs off. Hikaru says he's okay with it, what the hell, it's fun and they've got nothing to be embarassed about. If you're okay with it. They are. ]

 

 

 

 

[They _have_ been captured, after all, and stripped naked as well, but they haven't been smacked around and this underground tunnel complex is snugly warm. [the Chertians seem harmlessly inquisitive, but they could pull out the scalpels any moment. They take Pavel away and he gets worried, then bring him to him and he opens the chamber and sees two. ]

 

Story starts when Hikaru is prodded by Chertian captors into a round room that looks like the Bolian duplication device and two Pavels look up at him. He grins, they inform him the Chertians want to see a 'double entwinement' and the threesome involves a Sulu sandwich. At end Hikaru says he hopes they don't need to see a foursome, he might collapse from exhaustion. Put in recombined Chekov.

 

 

\---------- Forwarded message ----------  
Date: Tue, 30 Nov 2010 08:38:05 -0500 (EST)  
Subject: Chekov/Sulu Challenge -- copy into a document (fwd)

Also copy vivii's note, labeled 'Fanworksathon'

<http://community.livejournal.com/chekov_sulu/238217.html> \-- prompts

#14

Sulu/Chekov/Chekov or Chekov/Sulu/Sulu

Well you did say not unless there's heavy focus on Chekov/Sulu, and what better  
way than to have two of one of them?

#39

Aliens make them do it! Aaand... they totally enjoy it!

Chekov and Sulu have been together for years now, and when the aliens make them  
do it in front of them, they have fun with it! Playing up responses, maybe even  
tickling each other a little? They're totally confident and make the best of  
the situation.

Bonus if some crew members are watching and are totally jelly.

 

<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/456283.html> <\-- duplicated Sulu story  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/428153.html> <\-- chertians  
<http://fanfiction-rec.livejournal.com/38565.html?mode=reply> <\-- reread for characterization  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/401695.html>  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/464550.html>  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/449007.html>  
<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/435610.html>

 

<http://community.livejournal.com/chekov_sulu/237856.html> \-- rules

December 14th: I will email out dates for you to post your fanwork, you will be  
free to contest this until ~

January 14th: when I will post a reminder saying as much

Feb 14th: First fanworks start getting posted, with the aim of one or two being  
posted a week, depending on how many participants there end up being. Posting  
will continue until ~

March 11th, which is the final due date!

 

 

For those of you keeping track at home, you'll've realized that makes today the  
beginning of the prompt posting! That's right, in the comments of this very  
post is where the prompts for the fanworksathon are going to go. Do you have a  
prompt at the kinkmeme that you've always wanted to see filled? Well paste it  
here and maybe it'll have a second chance!

**1\. Sorry, no threesome prompts, unless there's especially heavy focus on  
Chekov/Sulu.**  
2\. One prompt per comment, please  
3\. YOU DO NOT have to be participating in the -athon to post prompts


	16. Points For Accuracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [](http://stickmarionette.livejournal.com/profile)[**stickmarionette**](http://stickmarionette.livejournal.com/)'s [Twenty Facts About Charles Xavier](http://weightedpass.livejournal.com/12865.html): _Sometimes they [the fantasies] were about him. When he was particularly bored, he'd grade them for realism._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad towards this story idea. It's a great one, and I rather failed it. I'll try to do better next time.

Title: Points For Accuracy  
Rating: As it is: PG As it was intended to be: R  
Characters/Pairing: Charles/Erik.  
Content Advisory: Fantasies  
Prompt/Plotbunny/Summary: From [](http://stickmarionette.livejournal.com/profile)[**stickmarionette**](http://stickmarionette.livejournal.com/)'s [Twenty Facts About Charles Xavier](http://weightedpass.livejournal.com/12865.html): _Sometimes they [the fantasies] were about him. When he was particularly bored, he'd grade them for realism._  
Notes: I feel bad towards this story idea. It's a great one, and I rather failed it. I'll try to do better next time.

 

'Romance' Drabble One (Romance is the prompt)

Points For Accuracy

People have their daydreams, often of love and romance; when Charles sits in a public place filled with strangers or acquaintances, such as a classroom or a tram, sometimes one or more of them will build a fantasy around him. It's amusing to track the common patterns, the stereotypes and best of all inaccuracies, and he usually assigns a letter grade, ranging from B+ to F-, to how realistically they envision him.

Then comes the day after he and Erik met in the sea off Miami, when they sit either side of Raven in a government sedan's back seat. Charles leans his head against the window and carefully keeps his face still as he listens to Erik sizing them up. He examines the driver's hands for twice as many seconds as he spent evaluating the entire remainder, before dismissing the agent with hardly another thought. Charles himself can only remember the driver's named Coulson by dipping into his mind, so he supposes he can't really talk.

Erik looks Moira over next. dispassionately assigning her attractiveness less weight than the authority of her position, and then contemplates Raven, who appears to him creamy and fragile. Charles disguises biting his lip as a fidget and thus manages not to laugh; Erik hasn't yet seen her power nor her temper.

When Erik reaches him Charles expects the same sort of cursory contemplation; what he doesn't expect is how Erik's thoughts linger on what he considers Charles's mild look and vividly blue eyes, nor the heat that tinges Erik's evaluation of the wiry strength that dragged him from the ocean. Watching Erik wonder what he would be like in bed, Charles sees a remarkably accurate image of himself, flushed, grinning, and rosy red from hairline to groin, even his neck arched just so.

Blinking, Charles glances over into water-colored eyes, [and this needs a fitting wrap up. Currently 302 words.].

 

[Then on the drive up from Florida Erik sits on the other side of Raven, sizing them all up. He dismisses the agent driving with barely a thought -- Charles himself can only remember the man's name, Coulson, by dipping into his mind -- and views Moira with resentful respect, her pleasant appearance less important than her position. Raven looks so creamy and fragile -- Charles nearly laughs, Erik hasn't yet seen her power nor her temper -- and then Erik settles on Charles, his mild look and big eyes and the wiry strength that dragged him from the ocean. Erik wonders what Charles would be like in bed, and Charles gets a remarkably accurate image of himself grinning with head thrown back, flushed from hairline to groin, and blinks in shocked surprise.

 

 

 

 

 

Lee (stickmarionette) replied to a comment you left in a LiveJournal post  
(<http://weightedpass.livejournal.com/12865.html>). The comment they replied  
to was:

> _Sometimes they were about him. When he was particularly bored, he'd_  
> grade them for realism.

> I may steal this for a drabble sometime; it's firmly ensconced in my  
> personal canon.

> This is an awesome collection of truths about Charles Xavier.

Their reply was:

 

 

Subject: Re: *

I'd love to see that drabble, if you ever write it. A telepathic kid  
would end up developing different ideas about sex than everybody else,  
wouldn't he? *g*

Thank you!

From here, you can:


	17. Rewrite Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles tells Erik about Kurt Marko.

So, one more. I haven't had much writing time recently, and need to pare down my projects.

Title: Rewrite Icarus  
Rating: As it is: PG As it was intended to be: NC-17  
Characters/Pairing/Threesome/Etc: Charles/Erik  
Content Advisory: Abusive childhood alluded to, sex on a rug, possible rimming.  
Summary: Charles tells Erik about Kurt Marko.  
Prompt/Plotbunny: After "A Present Elevation" Charles wanted to have a say.

 

[We Can] Rewrite Icarus  
or maybe Dream The Morning After

As Erik doggedly jogs away from him, Charles indulges in a private angry rumination on how Erik doesn't trust --

And pauses there for a moment, changing his course. That's it, actually; Erik doesn't _trust_ , anyone, not even himself, let alone Charles. Although there was that moment in the briny sea off Miami, when Erik shouted questions at him over the roar of the waves, wild hope in his eyes as Charles told him he wasn't alone.

Charles smiles sideways at the memory. Then he takes a deep breath and heads for the cut between the trees on the west side, keeping a measure of attention on the bright flare of Erik's mind as he takes one more lap around Charles's house.

 

 

 

Erik is training crazily and Charles goes to get him to come in and rest. Charles finds him in a little copse/clearing, or maybe directs him to a particular room ("A sunny gorgeous room and Erik wondering why it's disused") etc, that holds special painful memories, so he tells Erik that his stepfather used to bring him there to beat him, offering the info as a gift since he knows so much about Erik. [Charles catches Erik and lures him in. Moira and Raven and the boys are all fine.]

when charles tells erik his secret, describe erik's emotions; rage and tenderness, desire to touch and hold charles, mistrust of the strength. charles says it's not from him, it's all erik.

Erik says he should shower, they talk and neck. Erik feels he has to be strong because he wasn't strong enough as a boy to kill or attack Shaw. Charles says that Shaw's mutation protects him (this is specifically during the mourning and training week). Describes Darwin's death to him. Then Charles sets out to exhaust him with pleasure and gets him to come in (or vice versa). Outside sex maybe. Charles licks sweat from the muscled planes of his back, rims Erik into exhaustion and jerks him off. [Or maybe Erik demands to be fucked. Charles is incredulous but gives in. [lube?]] When Charles pushes a finger into him Erik snarls.

Erik tells Charles "you can't break me" and Charles says, "I don't want to." Telepathic conversation while Charles's mouth is busy.

After Erik comes he whips around faster than Charles expected, still raw and jangling, and kneels astride Charles as he kisses him and jerks him off.

 

[ Re: Charles/Erik, wounds & scars

Somebody replied to a comment left by cricep (cricep) in a LiveJournal post  
(<http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/397.html>). The comment they replied  
to was:

> ?I know there are open wounds in your soul, my friend, and I hope you  
> know I would never disturb them. But Erik? if I keep away from all your  
> scars too, I?ll never touch you at all.?

Their reply was:

Subject: Re: Charles/Erik, wounds & scars

This could combine really gorgeously with the Charles topping prompt just  
above it (<http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/397.html?replyto=579469>).

*contemplates*

 

View the entire thread this comment is a part of:  
<http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/397.html?thread=586125#t586125>

 

 

 

<http://stereowire.livejournal.com/66897.html>   
<http://zamwessell.livejournal.com/2103.html>   
<http://archiveofourown.org/works/216282>   
<http://thefirstclass.livejournal.com/53574.html>   
<http://rei-of-writing.livejournal.com/34537.html>   
<http://archiveofourown.org/works/242291>   
<http://argyleheir.livejournal.com/69508.html>   
<http://oldfriends.livejournal.com/209263.html>   
<http://honey-wheeler.livejournal.com/119119.html>   
<http://scrapbullet.livejournal.com/67760.html>

Make a sequel to 'a present elevation'  
Charles rims Erik, I think, and kisses up his spine.

 

Catch a Body by Ilse Bendorf,

Salinger, I’m sorry, but “Don’t ever tell  
anybody anything” is a string of words  
I would like to wrap up in canvas and sink  
to the bottom of the Hudson, or extract  
by laser from the ribcage of all of us  
who ever believed it, who felt afraid  
to miss someone, to be the last one  
standing. “Tell everyone everything” is  
not exactly right, but I do believe that if  
your mother looks radiant in violet  
you should tell her, or when a juvenile  
sparrow thrashes its wings in dustpiles  
and reminds you of a lover’s eyelashes,  
you should say so. We are islands all of us,  
but we are also boats, our secrets flares,  
pyrotechnic devices by which we signal  
there’s someone in here we’re still alive!  
So maybe it’s, “don’t be afraid.” We can  
rewrite Icarus, flame-resistant feathers,  
wax that won’t melt, I mean it, I’ll draw up  
a prototype right now, that burning ball  
of orange won’t stop us, it’ll be everything  
we dream the morning after, even if we fall  
into the sea—we are boats, remember?  
We are pirates. We move in nautical miles.  
Each other’s anchors, each other’s buoys,  
the rocket’s red, already the world entire.


End file.
